The Deserter
by darksawr
Summary: Stranded on Nar Shaddaa and driven by desperation, the Ghost crew work with a dangerous stranger offering a means of escaping off-world. This reluctant alliance endangers far more than anyone could have realized.
1. Desperate Times

The Deserter

Chapter 1

Desperate Times

 **Hello, this is darksawr, I'm back a month or two ahead of schedule XD. I come bearing what I hope is a new and improved version of The Mandalorian Rebel. I'd like to thank you all for your patience; hopefully, this will be worth the wait. I read all of the reviews you leave me and among them was a guest saying that he hopes that my character won't be a Gary Stu again.**

 **I hope so too buddy, I hope so too….**

 **Wish me luck fellas.**

 **You may notice that this story will be significantly different than its predecessor. That's an intentional factor on my part because I wasn't satisfied with my previous storyline. Sues corrupt story trees from the very roots and I can't expect that the former won't carry the latter's stain, and I knew that my story was dying. So I figured that the best way to remedy this dilemma would be to wipe the slate clean and start a new plot. Let me know in the reviews if you think the previous story line is better or if you believe this one is an improvement.**

 **Disclaimer: All I own is my OC, everything else is Disney's property.**

* * *

On the planet of Nar Shaddaa….

"Twelve thousand credits!?", Sabine asked with a mood in between incredulous and angry, "For a simple engine part?"

" _Chu bakta tiy mon!"_ the Gamorrean threw his arms up with a grunt.

"I don't care how difficult it was for you to obtain it." Sabine took a deep breath to calm growing frustration, "That isn't business that's extortion!"

" _Uka yousa cheksboc glenvis!"_ the pig-like alien pointed back to the streets.

"I wasn't planning on sticking around." Sabine turned her back to the overweight vendor and walked away; ignoring the less than favorable words that the pig spoke under his breath.

Sabine activated the comm inside of her helmet with a sigh.

"This is Twister to Home, do you read me?" Sabine spoke into the communications device.

Zeb's voice greeted the young Mando's ears.

" _This is Warbeast, I read you, any luck finding the part?"_ the Lasat asked with only a little hope in his words.

"Plenty, but none in our price range," Sabine reported, "How these vendors stay in business is beyond me with the prices they demand."

" _That's Nar Shaddaa for ya Twister,"_ Zeb stated with no humor in his voice.

"I know," Sabine admitted, "But what about you? Any luck on your end?"

" _I think you already know the answer to that."_ Zeb dryly stated.

"Thought so," Sabine felt her stress level rise, "I assume the others haven't met a reasonable seller."

" _We may need to resort to one of our alternative solutions."_

"Stealing one won't earn us any favors around here, even if it is from these cheapskates." Sabine already had reservations about the alternatives, "And the work here doesn't pay nearly enough, we may be stuck here for months; even if all five of us managed to land a job."

" _I don't like it either Twister,"_ Zeb replied, _"None of us do. But we can't waste time hoping to find an honest entrepreneur."_

"'Entrepreneur'?", Sabine repeated, "I can not say I've heard you use that word, Warbeast."

Her quip earned a chuckle from the Lasat.

"I'll give the marketplace one last sweep before we rendezvous back at the Ghost." Sabine decided.

" _Alright, see ya at the Ghost Twister, good luck."_

The communicator was shut off, leaving the rebel with her thoughts; in truth that was the real reason why she wanted to stay an extra moment or two.

" _One shot."_ Sabine gritted her teeth in frustration, _"One lucky shot got us into this mess."_

The entire event was still fresh in the Mando's mind. It was supposed to be a simple snatch and run; they've performed it dozens of times, but this time one pilot got lucky. Sabine knew for practically a fact that the Empire wasn't about to cut them a break anytime soon, but she was ready to take them on all the same. The Empire almost always sent one or two Star Destroyers alongside a couple of handfuls of TIE Fighters; with the occasional new model fighter or weapon. Predictable as they were, they still forced the rebels into a retreat; the number of rebel casualties growing by the hour and the number of Imperial losses shrinking with each battle.

Every member of the Ghost crew knew that they had more close calls than a pirate bought drinks, and this time luck seemed to favor the Galactic Empire when a TIE fighter landed a few well-placed shots on their means of transportation; effectively damaging the Ghost's engine and some parts of the hyperdrive. Long story short, they had to drop out of hyperspace and land on the closest inhabited planet to perform repairs.

" _Just our luck that planet happened to be Nar Shaddaa."_ Sabine thought to herself, _"Is the Empire getting better or are we just slipping up. Maybe our luck has run out."_

Sabine disposed of the pessimistic thoughts quicker than she could blink. Unfortunate events such as these have happened before, and they've worked through them every time. For now, Sabine reviewed possible jobs she could take to help expand their price range, not the ones that paid next to nothing for long hours of labor, but the ones that involved risk and substantial reward. Unless a wanted outlaw with a bounty on his or her head happened to be on Nar Shaddaa without any intentions of leaving soon browsing the bounty board would be out of the question, and simply stealing either the part or the means to buy it would likely make some enemies that aren't too forgiving. The option of being a gun for hire appealed to the Mandalorian blood in Sabine's veins, but she wanted to consult her friends on that route first.

Sabine's thoughts distracted her from the armored individual approaching her from behind. But all it took was a single sentence to send her back into defensive mode.

"Can ya spare a moment of your time?" a voice filtered by a helmet asked.

Sabine quickly spun around, kicking the stranger on the right side of his ribcage. The man buckled in pain and raised his hands as quickly as he could to show he meant no harm.

"Woah! Take it easy!" the stranger exclaimed.

"You should know better than to surprise a Mandalorian." Sabine didn't regret the pain she inflicted upon this stalker.

"So that armor wasn't stolen, eh?" the man regained his composure.

"It wasn't. Can the same be said of yours?" Sabine asked as she slowly drew one of her pistols in case the stranger tried anything.

The Stranger did have Mandalorian Armor of his own, but it was significantly different from Sabine's. The armor itself seemed to serve as a uniform of sorts, but it was clear that its owner hasn't been taking care of it that well; evidently by the marks, blaster burns, mild rust, and the dirt that stuck to it like a second skin.

Sabine grimaced at the half-hearted attempt to paint it. She couldn't tell if he intended for a gray and red pattern or if he just threw on a color without thinking how it would mix with any colors that may have already been present. The helmet was the only part of the outfit that seemed to have been worked on with care, the crude imitation of an arachnids face and extra eyes was a bit less sloppy than the rest of the Stranger's handiwork.

" _Maybe he's an admirer of Admiral Trench?"_ the back of Sabine's mind tried to reason the Stranger's choice of animal.

The Stranger merely shook his head.

Sabine released a sigh and slowly reholstered her sidearm.

"I apologize if I startled you." It was hard to tell whether or not the Mandalorian was sincere, "I have a proposition that may be of great interest to you."

"What makes you think I will accept?" Sabine asked with a brow raised; albeit it was invisible due to her helmet.

Sabine could almost sense the smirk forming on the Stranger's shielded face.

"You were arguing with the Gammorean about an overpriced component." The Stranger stated.

Sabine wanted to question how this man knew about that, but then she realized that her "chat" with the humanoid pig wasn't exactly quiet or discrete.

"I have a contract with a very generous client." The Stranger crossed his arms, "Unfortunately, I can't complete it by myself."

"I'm listening." Sabine mimicked the Stranger's action.

"My original group of hired guns apparently had some debts to pay," The Stranger continued, "I don't know who they owed or the reason for it, but whoever they owed must have lost his or her patience. Long story short: I am in need of a few helping hands."

"How much would my cut be worth?" Sabine asked.

"It will be more than enough to by ten of that Gamorrean's overpriced parts." The Stranger answered, "Interested?"

"My crew may be willing to aid you, but that's a matter I will need to discuss with them," Sabine replied, "I would like to know the details of this mission before I get into anything."

"If your crew is willing, meet me at this location," the Stranger handed the female warrior a data chip, "I'll tell you more then."

"I'll think about it." Sabine gave a simple nod as she stored the Stranger's chip.

Just as she was turning to leave, the Stranger apparently felt the need to get a few more words in before they parted ways.

"I wouldn't think about it for too long." The Stranger warned, "This offer leaves the table in six hours."

To the young woman, this sounded more like a demand than a suggestion, but she was no fool; this Strange Man was just as desperate for her assistance as she was for the engine components.

Sabine opted to remain silent and leave; this man had delayed her long enough.

* * *

 _An hour later, at the Nar Shaddaa Spaceport…._

Sabine removed her helmet and ran a hand through her fiery orange-red dyed hair. She felt a genuine smile creep onto her face at the sight of the spaceship she has- and still does- consider home. The boarding ramp was down and the lights on.

Sabine wasted no time in scaling the ladder and entering the rec room. She didn't give much thought to the whereabouts of the Ghost's captain or their smart-mouthed Astromech droid, the need to sit down for a moment and rest her eyes took priority. The Mandalorian seated herself on the makeshift couch near the holochess table and placed her helmet next to her; a yawn soon escaped her.

Only now did Sabine realize how tired she was, her eyelids became nearly impossible to lift and the cold metal surface she was lying against began to feel very warm and inviting.

Sabine was out like a light.

* * *

 _15 minutes later…._

Sabine felt a gentle hand grip her shoulder and shake her lightly; Sabine tried to ignore it and rest for just a few more minutes. The effort proved futile when the action occurred twice more and with greater force. Sabine opened her eyes halfway and readjusted to the light in the room. She also noticed that she was no longer alone, the person responsible for waking her was the green-skinned Twi'lek Hera.

"How long was I out?" Sabine spoke through a chortle.

"Only fifteen minutes, give or take." Hera smiled, "The others will be back soon."

"That's good to hear." Sabine rubbed her eyelids to brush the cobwebs out of her focus.

"I hate to ask, but did you have any luck finding those components?" Hera asked respectfully; not at all oblivious to the young woman's stress.

"Finding them? Plenty." Sabine stood up and stretched a bit, "Obtaining them? None."

"I figured as much." Hera sighed, "But I appreciate your effort."

"Not a problem," Sabine assured the Captain, "How are things around here? Any luck with the repairs?"

"I managed to patch up the Ghost's exterior engines and seal any holes the Empire made in my ship." Hera reported, "The bad news is that I am nearly out of welding fluid. With any luck, Zeb found a few canisters that aren't overpriced."

"What about Chopper?" Sabine instinctively looked around for the moxie-filled droid.

"There is only so much he can do for this type of repair," Hera responded, "He's recharging right now."

The sound of labored breaths and the clanging of metal cut off the conversation.

"Sounds like Zeb is back," Sabine observed.

"Hopefully with the fuel we need." Hera was confident that the requested item was the cause of the noises that followed the Lasat's breathing.

The two females of the crew walked out to the railing and gazed down at the load Zeb dragged in. To say that the rebels were relieved would be an understatement when they saw the giant tank of fuel sitting in their cargo hold.

"What took you so long?" Sabine joked.

A sigh and a chuckle escaped the Lasat at the same time as he was finally gathering his bearings.

"You try carrying a seventy-pound canister for over three miles." The Lasat countered, earning a small chuckle from the two rebels.

"Thanks for the help big guy." Hera climbed down the ladder and retreated into her work area for a short amount of time.

When the Twi'lek returned, she was wheeling out a few medium sized canisters on a gurney. Hera proceeded to attach a hose to the giant tank and began to siphon the fuel into the smaller canisters. When it became obvious that the pilot was no longer in a chatty mood, Zeb climbed the ladder and joined Sabine in the rec room to rest his aching body.

Zeb wasted no time in procuring a seat where he could rest his whole body while Sabine plopped herself on a seat across from him.

"I didn't know we needed fuel too." Sabine sparked up a conversation; they seemed to be what was keeping her stress level down.

"Hera contacted me with the news an hour or two before you did," Zeb elaborated; it was clear the alien was just as eager for a distraction as Sabine was, "But I'm just happy we accomplished something today. Even if it is something as trivial as shopping for supplies."

"You and me both, Zeb." Sabine nodded in agreement, "You and me both."

"I take it no vendors were willing to give you a discount?" Zeb's question was almost rhetorical.

"No such luck," Sabine answered, "Guess they don't like customers who are capable of breaking their wrists."

"Or it could just be that you don't have the charm." Zeb played along.

"Who? Me? Doubtful." Sabine laughed; her well-known spunk and wit resurfaced if only for a few seconds.

It was times like these that Sabine cherished the most; when all of the planning and fights just melted away into the background. When she reminds herself that she had no regrets for abandoning the academy and her family; she had a better one on this ship.

To the Mandalorian, this rare and lighthearted back and forth was akin to that shared between a brother and his youngest sister.

After a few more minutes of conversation, Zeb got to his feet and bid Sabine farewell before he went to his bunk to take a nap. Sabine was tempted to turn in for the night, but she knew that sleep would be difficult when she hasn't even heard a plan for the morning; must be a Mandalorian thing. Thankfully, the girl didn't have to wait for too long as Kanan and Ezra returned in less than a minute.

Sabine got to her feet and walked back out to the railing- curious to see what the two force wielders have brought back with them. The only thing they had with them was a single crate that kept in suspended animation by the anti-gravity batteries installed at its bottom.

"Good to have you back." Sabine greeted her friends.

"Good to be back." Ezra's voice showed his fatigue; if not from pushing the crate than from the very long and stressful day they've experienced.

Kanan merely gave a short wave and wasted no time in revealing the contents of the container. There were lines of tubes- some in worse condition than others- all were about the same length and width as a grown human male's arm.

" _Probably that welding fluid Hera needed."_ Sabine thought to herself.

Whatever was inside had to wait because the leader of the team had a new set of orders for them.

"Sabine, please get Zeb to the rec room," Kanan ordered the Mandalorian.

"Roger that, Kanan." Sabine gave a quick salute.

"Meeting in five, I repeat, meeting in five!" Hera announced as she raised the boarding ramp back up; cutting off the flow of the cold night air.

Sabine almost felt bad when she stirred the warrior out of his sleep, but work came first. Zeb wasn't exactly happy, but he didn't take his frustration out on Sabine.

* * *

The rec room now had all of its crew seated and accounted for; save Chopper who was still shut down and recharging. Hera and Kanan both took a seat that on either side of the holochess table while Ezra had made himself comfortable on top of an empty crate.

Sabine let Zeb take the makeshift couch and took the rotating cockpit chair for herself.

Kanan's eyes darted around the room; instinctively making sure that every crewman was safe and situated, before broaching the matter at hand.

"I'm aware that you are all tired, but I need you to stay with me for a bit longer," Kanan noted the elephant in the room, "First, turn in whatever remaining credits you have to Hera."

The rebels complied without speaking a word.

Zeb pulled out three silver and one gold credit and dropped them into Hera's open palm.

Ezra fumbled through his pockets for a few seconds, trying to find which pouch he had stored the money in; when you had that many pouches on one belt, mix-ups were inevitable. Kanan's eyes opened a bit wider as he became concerned that the boy had either lost their remaining currency or was the target of a skilled pickpocket. Everyones' heart rate returned to normal when the Jedi in training pulled out the shiny bits of metal: five were gold, while the remaining seven were silver.

Sabine already had her share ready. She pulled out a big handful of credits and handed them to the Twi'lek.

"I'm sorry Hera, none of the offers were in our price range." Sabine apologized to the captain, "But I assure you I didn't spend a single credit."

"No need to apologize, Sabine," Hera's toothless smile did offer some comfort before she counted the currency to make sure Sabine's statement was indeed true, "Not a single credit is missing."

"Alright then, let's proceed," Kanan moved the meeting along, "Hera, how goes the ship repairs?"

"Slowly, it probably will take three to eight rotations, give or take," Hera reported, "But without the required components, the Ghost won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

"From what I've heard the prices for some of those parts ain't exactly reasonable or within our price range to begin with." Zeb gave his two cents.

"We know Zeb," Hera sighed, "Which is why we need to look for jobs."

"Or mercenary work," Sabine suggested, "The pay for working as a custodian or a dishwasher is next to nothing for very long hours."

"We are aware of that, Sabine," Kanan told the Mandalorian, "But Mercenary work could lead to harm of the innocents for whatever syndicate willing to pay our required sum."

"Not to mention, it could get our faces on the wanted board," Ezra added, "But it couldn't hurt to see who is wanted alive."

"We'll see if it comes to that." Kanan clearly wasn't that keen on that course of action; it was no way to make friends or avoid creating enemies.

"Let's not dance around the obvious," Hera sighed, "We should start looking for employment, it wouldn't be the first time we've done it."

"On those other occasions, the price gap was quite a bit smaller, and the vendors couldn't smell desperation from a mile away," Zeb countered, "I'm no stranger to how the credits flow on Nar Shaddaa, and the majority of it falls into the hands of gangsters and strongmen."

"We'd get paid a fraction of the scraps." Ezra had been a street kid for most of his life, he knew, perhaps more than anyone else on the ship, that Zeb wasn't exaggerating, "The longer we stay here, the more time we give the Empire to hunt us down. I don't know about you guys, but I'll take crossing a few thugs to the Empire finding us any day."

Kanan looked around. It only took him a brief glance to see that the other two crew members echoed the sentiment. The Jedi sighed and reluctantly surrendered to more efficient but controversial path of mercenary work.

"If you all believe that's the best course of action to take, I'll support it, but I don't want any of you to sign us up for a mission that involves the death of any innocents or families." Kanan relented; although he knew the crew never had any intention of going against those principles in the first place.

"You have our word, Kanan." Hera decided to speak for her teammates and reassure the Jedi that they haven't stooped to the Empire's level; they had no intention of starting anytime soon.

"Then we should rest up. Tomorrow we will look around, see if you anyone is looking for an extra blaster or two," Kanan suggested, "Unless anyone here already has a solution."

Sabine's eyes involuntarily widened as she remembered the Stranger's offer. She quickly fished through the utility pouches on her belt and pulled out the data chip.

"We _might_ not need to," Sabine didn't hesitate to put the emphasis on the word might.

"Whaddya mean?" Zeb raised an eyebrow.

Everyone else just leaned forward an inch or two and listened intently.

"During my search for the engine parts, I was confronted by a Mercenary of sorts." Sabine explained, "He claimed to have overheard my argument with a Gammorean vendor and told me he was in need of some extra hands to complete a contract. Our cut would apparently be enough to buy ten copies of the parts we need."

"Did he explain the details of this mission of his?" Zeb was intrigued, "Did he mention who he was working for or if he was performing a hit?"

"I don't know whether or not he was a hitman," Sabine replied, "He won't tell me anything unless I meet him at the location on this data chip with anyone else willing to help; we need to act soon, he says the offer leaves the table in six hours. That was two hours ago."

"We should at least check this guy out," Zeb stood up, "I know you Jedi don't believe in luck, but I believe in opportunity and taking it when it shows itself."

"I don't know if now is the time to be taking unnecessary risks." Kanan was rightfully skeptical.

"It has gotten us this far, hasn't it?" Ezra chimed in, "It's not like we haven't taken risks before."

"You think I don't know that?" Kanan asked, "I know we need to take risks to come out of this war in one piece, but we are most vulnerable when we are planet-bound like this."

Kanan wanted to test the opportunity as much as any of his teammates, but he had to maintain a broader perspective whenever his friends were involved. He hadn't forgotten the crew's other encounters with opportunities that seemed too good to be true. Luminara Unduli, Gall Trayvis, Maketh Tua, all seemed like they would finally change the tide of the war, but the Empire got to every one of them first.

But the opportunity simply couldn't be dismissed no matter how many reservations the crew had.

"Alright, we'll meet this man and hear him out," Kanan relented, "Just keep an eye out for anything that may indicate a connection to the Empire or anyone else who wants our scalps."

"It's decided then," Hera crossed her arms and stood up, "Let's see what is on that chip."

Sabine handed it to the Twi'lek without a second thought. The alien took a simple holographic projector from her utility belt and inserted the data.

The machine sparked to life almost immediately and beamed out a projection of what appeared to be a map with an overview of the local Bazaar; all of the stands were so similar, Sabine couldn't tell whether or not it was the same district she'd just visited.

A blinking dot quickly captured the rebels' attention, and the hologram quickly zoomed in on the dot's location, showing a decently preserved bar. The dot expanded into a little box, allowing it to display a message.

" _The Tainted Nectar_." Sabine read aloud.

"Not the name I would have chosen," Ezra commented.

"We should get going," Hera ignored the Jedi in training's quip, "If this guy's offer is genuine I don't want to waste any more time."

The crew nodded in agreement and swiftly went to their respective quarters to retrieve anything they felt was needed; at the time it felt like that was everything they could carry.

Sabine felt her feet hit a few of the empty spray paint cans that littered her room's floors; the Mandalorian let a sigh escape her throat. She knew that it would take a few good hours of sleep to erase the stress completely from her mind because she was getting irritated by trivial matters that normally didn't bug her at all.

Shoving the thought out of her mind, Sabine knelt down and retrieved a digital lockbox from underneath her bunk and punched in the appropriate combination. The rebel opened up the container and fished through its contents -the lockbox was not exempt from her messy nature- and pulled out the first spare blaster cartridge she could spot and clipped it to her belt. After a few more minutes of searching, the young woman found her combat knife and clipped it to the back of her belt after sharpening it a bit on her shoulder guard.

Satisfied with her equipment choice, Sabine jogged to the cargo bay to find the rest of her crewmates waiting for her.

Zeb appeared to have grabbed nothing but his Bo Rifle.

Hera had put on her standard pilot gear, including the mask*.

Ezra had donned his signature cadet helmet and his hybrid lightsaber.

Kanan was the only one who didn't grab anything.

Sabine climbed down the ladder and accidentally bumped right into Chopper; the latter of which seemed to have finished his recharge session.

Chopper beeped angrily and used his hand-like appendage to imitate a shaking fist.

"Sorry buddy." Sabine apologized, "I thought you were still asleep."

Chopper let out another series of less angry but frustrated chirps.

"Well someone has to look after the ship." Sabine giggled at Chopper's slightly childish behavior.

Chopper let out what one could perceive to be as a scoff and rolled away.

Sabine gave a toothless smile and shook her head lightly before putting on her helmet.

"Let's get moving."

* * *

 **And that's a wrap! Be sure to review and tell me what you think of this compared to the original version. Personally, I am very excited about this one. I think I've matured and improved as an author, at least I hope so XD.**

 **WARNING: LAY OF THE LAND RANT BEGINNING!**

 **I do not intend to scrap this project. I will not include any other OCs for an important role in the story. I will not include any OCs belonging to other authors in my story unless I say otherwise. I intend to keep my character balanced, realistic, and reasonable.**

 **My character will not be a connected to the Force in any way, shape, or form. He will not be reborn. He will not possess any unreasonable talents. He will not take charge of the crew. He won't be insanely protective. He won't have any special powers. He doesn't have any long lost family to avenge. He doesn't brood over a tragic past. He doesn't have a mercurial or two-faced personality. He isn't the Chosen One or "The only one who can save this from that." OR ANY OF THAT CRAP!**

 **(calms down a** _ **bit**_ **)**

 **I'm not too stubborn or proud to not acknowledge that my character was a Gary Stu in my previous stories, I'm not going to brush my mistake under the carpet, I'm going to own up to it and declare it right now for all to hear. I was naïve enough to think by adjusting him as I went through the story line would correct the error I've made. It is now that I realize I need to cut out the infection at its source and make a fresh start. I just hope that you can show me the same support as you did before and trust that I am telling the truth, I was blind to the constructive criticism you were kind enough to give me before; know that I have changed.**

 **LAY OF THE LAND RANT OVER**

 **(catches breath)**

 **Phew! Thanks for bearing with me, I just had to get that out XD. I'd hate to return only to leave things on a sour note so here're some optimistic announcements. All in all, I am very confident and excited for this story, and again, I believe this will be a major improvement over the Mandalorian Rebel.**

 **A/N: To those of you with a watchful eye, you may have noticed I dyed Sabine's hair orange-red instead of the violet color in Season 3. I don't know about you readers, but I think bright and lively colors bring out her personality. Let me know whether or not you agree with me in the reviews ;)**

 **A/N: You may have noticed that the pace of this story is slower than its predecessor, that is a purposeful choice on my part to give the characters time to develop and grow. But when an action scene comes into play, I'll speed things up a little to suit the atmosphere.**

 **Reviews tell me whether or not people read my story, so if you would be kind enough to drop me a review and perhaps tell other Rebels fans about my story, I would be very grateful. :)**

 **Remember, I am still a busy guy. I need time and some support from you guys to make the future chapters, so review, tell me what you liked about this chapter and what areas you think still need improvement. Until next time, Auf Wiederzehn!**

 *** For those of you who want an idea of what Hera's full pilot suit looks like, imagine the suit your character wears in the beginning of Destiny.**

 **Glory to Mandalore!**


	2. Shady Dealings

The Deserter

Chapter 2

Shady Dealings

 **Howdy, I'm back with another chapter of the Deserter! First off I would like to thank all of you for leaving reviews and thoughts. Before we jump into the chapter, I'd like to fill you guys in on a few details:**

 **This story takes place after the Grand Inquisitor's death but before the introduction of the Fifth Brother and Seventh Sister.**

 **Galen Marek AKA Starkiller will appear in Darth Maul's place; I can't be the only one who wishes Starkiller was featured instead.**

 **This story won't be identical to the series. I will explore alternate possibilities with Starkiller in the picture.**

 **Guest: The Rise of Starkiller is officially on indefinite hiatus. But don't worry, I am making a new and improved version once I complete this story. But this time, it is going to have a steady pace only one OC. A rebel or imperial soldier with a name isn't an OC.**

 **Alrighty, I hope you enjoy the chapter and leave me a review or two XD.**

 **Disclaimer: I only own the Stranger.**

* * *

A short time later on Nar Shaddaa….

The trip to the _Tainted Nectar_ proved to be a silent one thus far, although none of the crew were surprised, no one was in a talkative mood since the matter of employment came into question. Sabine's legs began to ache a bit; a sign that they wanted their owner to sit down for a moment, but Sabine ignored the pleas for rest and kept her focus on the Lasat that was leading them to whatever kind of cesspool the Stranger wanted to meet.

"I hate to be that guy," Ezra's voice was slightly startling to most of the crew, "But how much longer until we get to this _Tainted Nectar_?"

Everyone noticed the hint of fatigue that had leaked into his voice.

"Shouldn't be much further," Zeb gave a short and simple answer, "If memory serves it should be in the next knot of merchants."

The Jedi in training slowed his pace to match Sabine's, wanting to put any questions he had on this Stranger to rest.

"Hey, do you have a minute?" Ezra lowered the volume of his voice.

"I got nothing else to do except following Zeb." Sabine gave a shrug.

"I know I supported the decision to meet with this Mercenary," Ezra began only to have Sabine cut him off.

"Don't tell me you're getting cold feet." Sabine would have rubbed the bridge of her nose if her helmet wasn't on.

"What? No." Ezra was slightly taken aback by Sabine's choice of words.

"Then pray tell: what do you think I know about him that you want to know?" Sabine sighed with obvious annoyance.

"Are you sure that there wasn't anything that could give us a clue as to where he came from or who he works for?" Ezra asked, "Anything notable about his armor? An accent?"

" _He has been paying attention to Hera's tidbits. Kids gotten observant."_ Sabine thought to herself before looking back to the hostile and tense _conversation_.

"His armor appeared to be Mandalorian, but the poor paint job makes that questionable." Sabine shivered as the memory of the poorly decorated armor resurfaced; an artist like herself was unnerved by the lack of color and effort.

"Anything in his voice?" Ezra inquired.

Sabine opened her mouth to speak, but sudden revelations stopped words from immediately coming out. She took a few extra moments and formulated her response in her head a few times before finally giving her answer.

"To be honest, I did not notice it at first," Sabine confessed, "But his street tone didn't seem natural. It seemed to break up after he asked me if I stole my armor."

"If he's an Imperial Agent, then he is not good at his job," Ezra whispered.

"Which makes it all the more likely he doesn't work for them." Sabine concurred.

Sabine could tell Ezra was confused, even with his face concealed by a helmet.

"The Empire would not tolerate slip ups like that," Sabine decided to elaborate; her time in the Imperial Academy served her well, "Why didn't you bring this up on the Ghost?"

Ezra spared a quick glance around him instinctively checking for any eavesdroppers. Even if he was in the company of the friends he's come to call family.

"If I did, then Kanan may have called the whole thing off," Ezra explained, "If this guy's legit, then I don't want more doubts to let this chance slip through our hands."

As if on cue, Zeb announced that their destination was now in sight.

The Mandalorian of the group took some time to review the cantina's appearance. The building had obviously seen better days, with an overflowing disposal bin outside of the entrance and the chipping paint that may have added life to the _Tainted Nectar_.

There was no bouncer present, so no resistance was given to the rebels' entry. They received no insults from inebriated patrons because there was hardly anyone else inside of the establishment.

Sabine had seen many municipal locations in her life as a rebel, and contrary to the majority of the bars she had seen this one wasn't nearly as busy or as loud; no gamblers shouting at races on the entertainment channels, no music to add to a normally boisterous mood.

"I can see why that Mercenary chose this spot." The Lasat whispered quietly enough for the few customers to overhear but just loud enough for his allies to catch his statement.

"I'm just hoping he shows up." Hera furrowed her eyebrows.

"Can you see him, Sabine?" Kanan asked the rebel in question. She was the only member of the crew who knew what the Stranger looked like after all.

"That's him." Sabine pointed to booth built near the building's left wall.

"Well, that was fast." Hera murmured.

The Stranger was sharpening a combat knife on his armor's shoulder guard; the scrapping noise it made got louder with every step closer they got to him. Kanan coughed lightly into his fist to get the Stranger's attention, but the Mercenary didn't even look up from his ritual. The Jedi ignored man's rude behavior and merely gave a nod towards Sabine.

Sabine gave a sharp whistle before slamming her fist onto the table; _this_ got his attention.

"The blade is sharp enough, don't you think?" Sabine's tone was even but firm.

The Stranger merely chuckled and slid the knife into the holster on his belt.

"Glad to see ya decided to come." The Stranger greeted the girl who had flattened him only hours ago before turning his attention towards the others, "You the crew?"

"We are." Kanan gave a simple nod.

"And what should I call you?" the Stranger stood up and crossed his arms.

"Our names aren't your concern," Sabine answered, "Unless you are willing to share your name."

The Stranger chuckled as he walked up to Kanan. It wasn't a very intimidating action. He was only an inch or two taller than Sabine; so he was a bit shorter than the Jedi.

"I do not need or wish to know your names."

"If you expect us properly work with you, we need a way to identify and address you." Kanan stood

"You can just call me Recluse." The Stranger seemed to have an alias ready, "What should I call all of you?"

The Rebels alternative codenames were already useful.

"Outlaw."

"Sparrow."

"Gearbox."

"Warbeast."

"Twister."

"Now that we are all acquainted, why don't ya take a seat?" Recluse gestured to the booth.

After due consideration, the rebels got seated. Hera and Kanan sat in the booth across from Recluse's own. No one trusted the stranger, so Sabine and Ezra pulled up chairs from vacant tables; the bartender didn't seem to mind or very much care. Zeb was the only one who stayed standing, wanting to make sure this Recluse didn't try anything.

"I trust you have my data chip?" Recluse addressed Sabine.

The female Mandalorian merely shook her head and twitched her head towards Hera. The stranger extended his hand out towards the Twi'lek; the latter pulled out the item in question and wordlessly dropped it into his hand.

A small nod was the closest sign of gratitude the Recluse gave before storing the technology away in one of his utility pouches. Recluse's eyes quickly darted to each of the rebels, reading whatever he could from physical movements such as twitching, tapping, or shaking.

The Stranger's efforts were in vain, however, the two rebels that didn't have some form of concealment kept a perfectly straight face.

"Hmmm." his choice of sound displayed frustration.

"Something wrong?" Ezra asked suspiciously.

"No. Nothing at all." The Stranger lied, "Answer me this: What are your thoughts on the Empire?"

"Why do you want to know?" Sabine asked.

"Answer the question," Recluse didn't budge, "Then I might tell you."

"I think they are brutal slavers who can't keep their hands to themselves," Sabine responded with a bit of hesitation.

"Does she speak for the rest of ya?" the Recluse pointed towards the remainder of the crew.

"She does." Kanan nodded; he could sense that the Recluse liked Sabine's answer.

"Then you won't have any qualms about getting on their bad side."

It was less of a question and more of a statement.

"Who's to say we haven't already?" Sabine shook her head.

"Perfect _."_ Recluse leaned forward a little bit, "Before I tell you anything I need to know if all of you are willing to help remove a thorn in my client's side, permanently."

"What kind of thorn?" Kanan asked cautiously.

Although the Jedi has killed Imperial personnel in the past, almost every one of those occasions was in self-defense or to save one of his crew from death. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about aiding a stranger who was looking more and more like a hitman.

"A thorn of political standing, one could say." Recluse fished a holocommunicator from one of his belt pouches and placed it on the table, "A thorn that will jeopardize my client's means of making a living."

"You mean firesales?" Sabine corrected the Stranger.

Recluse ignored Sabine and pressed the side of the device. A hologram of decent quality projected a man brown hair combed neatly to the side. He had a pattern of blue, yellow, and red boxes on a badge that indicated his rank clipped to the side of a gray Imperial uniform.

"And who is the unlucky fella?" Zeb asked.

"Don't know. Don't care." The Stranger replied almost immediately.

"If you expect us to help you, Recluse, you can't keep us in the dark." Hera crossed her arms; her tone was calm and commanding.

"I was not provided with much detail." Recluse's excuse was very weak.

"Not my question." Hera wasn't going to give up, "I do not like working with liars."

"I ain't fibbing." Recluse's said defensively; his fingers curled up into fists.

Ezra tuned out the brewing argument and closed his eyes underneath his helmet. The young Jedi reached into the Stranger's very being through the force. After reading Recluse's intent and mental states to the best of his ability, Ezra couldn't sense any fear or panic; only growing frustration of Hera's persistence. Not a single hint of dishonesty, at least for the time being. The boy opened his eyes and cut the argument short.

"I believe him," Ezra spoke up, "If the payload is as big as he boasts then there is no way he'd let it slip over something trivial."

All eyes were on Ezra. Kanan didn't read anything out of the ordinary with the Recluse either.

"Glad to see one of ya has some sense," The Stranger's tone betrayed his pleasant surprise, "If anyone else here doesn't trust me, leave now and don't waste any more of our time."

No one moved an inch.

"Let's continue." Recluse took out a gold credit and let out a sharp whistle getting the Nikto bartender's attention.

The Mandalorian shouted a few words in Huttese and tossed the credit chip to the alien. After fishing the money out of the empty glass it had landed in, the Nikto walked around the bar and began ordering the few patrons; the majority of whom were passed out, to leave. He even fired a few rounds from a blaster pistol to wake up the comatose patrons. Once the Recluse and the rebels were the only remaining occupants, the conversation continued.

"What was that all about?" Ezra was a bit confused; his Huttese vocabulary was slightly limited.

"He just bribed a bartender to force the few customers he had through the exit." Zeb elaborated, "And I think I know why."

"At least I'm not working with partners who will spend their cut on Spice and Jawa Juice." The Recluse remarked and got on his feet, "Let's go somewhere a bit more private, shall we?"

* * *

The Stranger jogged to the bar and simply jumped over the barrier that would normally separate the bartender from the patrons. The rebels weren't in as much of a rush as the Recluse seemed to be in and simply walked the short distance between their table and the bar.

Recluse walked up to a metal door and pressed tried to open it using the control panel to its right, but it wouldn't budge. The Recluse pressed it a few more times in rapid succession but had no success.

" _Gar di'kut bic ni skana'din!"_ The Recluse mumbled under his breath.

"What did he say?" Ezra whispered to Sabine.

"Nothing positive," Sabine answered flatly.

"Good *hrngh* to know that *hrngh* ya know your *hrngh* own tongue." Recluse was trying to pry the dead door open with his bare hands; he was failing miserably.

"Step aside kid," Zeb addressed the stranger; who complied with a grunt.

The Lasat fit his fingers into a small gap on the side of the door and gave it a firm tug. The door made a terrible scraping sound as Zeb successfully pulled the door open almost completely.

Recluse once again showed his lack of gratitude by shoving past the Lasat and entering the poorly lit room.

"What? No thanks?" Zeb sarcastically asked; his arms crossed to show a bit of his frustration.

Recluse remained silent brightened the lights a little; although one of them burned out with a ringing: POP.

Zeb entered the room first and blinked a few times to adjust to the new level of light. He looked down to see the stranger had plugged a box of sorts into a holoterminal in the center of what appeared to be the employee break room. A foul odor compelled the Lasat to protect his nostrils.

The rest of the crew's experience wasn't exactly pleasant either.

"What's that stench?" Ezra was suddenly grateful his helmet filtered some of the smell out; unfortunately, not all of it.

"The expired portions and the rusting bottles may have something to do with it." Hera calmly pointed to half-eaten discarded snack foods ridden with insects that saw value in the litter that no reasonable man could see, and partially drank beverages that were likely snuck out from under the bar.

The Twi'lek had smelled much worse during her time as a pilot and kept an unfazed composure; although the pungent aroma was still undesirable to her.

Sabine wasn't all that bothered by the junk ridden break room. If the discarded food and drink were airbrushes and empty ammunition cartridges, and if the stench came from freshly applied paint instead of neglected care it would be a near replica of her quarters on the Ghost.

The Mandalorian noticed a control panel built into the wall that was identical to the one on the other side of the defective door. She saw no harm in experimenting a little with it and pressed the button intended to open and close the door. Contrary to the panel outside, this panel worked, made evident by the door scraping against the ground once again as it closed; albeit not completely due to Zeb's previous actions.

"Of course it works on the inside." Zeb murmured as he rubbed his eyelids.

No one else got the chance to speak as the sound of an electrical discharge echoed in the rec room.

" _Haar'chak!"_ Recluse cursed; his hand quickly shot to the side and shook up and down in an attempt to numb the pain the electricity inflicted upon it.

Sabine turned to see that the Stranger was attempting to turn on the holoterminal in the center of the room. In addition to lacking proper painting skill he also wasn't all that familiar with repairing technology.

" _Udesii."_ Sabine crossed her arms.

Kanan merely rolled his eyes at Recluse's slightly childish reaction.

"Need a hand?" The Jedi was almost reluctant to offer.

Another reaction of smaller discharges forced the Recluse to jump back to avoid repeating history.

"You an engineer?" The Recluse asked; trying to get some information out of crew the girl that calls herself Twister brought.

"Not me," Kanan then gestured to Hera, Ezra, and Sabine, "But they have some experience."

"Here, let me." Hera stepped forward.

"Knock yourself out." The Stranger moved away from the damaged terminal to allow the Twi'lek to do her work.

"I'm starting to wonder if _you_ have anything to contribute." Sabine walked up beside the Recluse.

Before the Recluse could display his reaction to Sabine's quip, the holoterminal blinked to life with a soft hum.

"We are in business," Ezra announced.

"Good, make yourselves comfortable," Recluse crossed his arms behind him; similar to an Imperial Officer, "This mission could make history."

While everyone thought the Stranger was exaggerating, they took a seat, kept quiet, and let him talk.

He fiddled with the box linked up to the holoterminal for a few seconds before a symbol depicting a crimson Kaleesh mask tattooed with various patterns that bore the color of black.

"The Crimson Brotherhood." Kanan declared.

"I would have thought someone like you would work for the Black Sun." Zeb furrowed his brow.

"Slow down," Ezra put both of his hands up, "What is the Crimson Brotherhood?"

"I am here to share the details of my contract, not to give history lessons." Recluse's impatience presented itself in his voice.

"Short version, they are a group of gangsters, commonly at odds with the Black Sun and Nova Guard," Sabine quickly explained, "Known for their assassination contracts and other jobs that trade blood for money."

"Without any further outbursts from the group of ya," The Recluse stated in a forced calm tone, "I would like to continue."

The rebels complied.

"As ya said the Crimson Brotherhood trades blood for money," Recluse resumed his briefing, "And the blood in this guys veins is worth a small fortune."

The hologram replaced the symbol with the image of the same Imperial from before, but this time it had some text at the bottom of the hologram.

Pay for this hit: 500,000 unmarked credits

Zeb let out a whistle.

"According to my client, in three weeks time, this man will come to Nar Shadaa," Recluse continued, "Bringing with him an Imperial presence that could destroy the Crimson Brotherhood's black market network of valuable firearms. The network takes in twice the amount of credits in a day then we will ever make in our combined lifetimes."

"Where do we come in?" Sabine asked.

"The Empire will implement a heavy security presence in the streets during the target's speech, which will happen approximately two hours after arrival," The terminal now displayed a plaza of sorts with a giant area cleared out for a crowd and a platform for the speaker, "This is our window."

"If you guys can get me to the designated location," The Recluse pointed to the Crimson Brotherhood symbol highlighting a particular rooftop with a view of the platform of the Imperial Official, "I will be able to kill the target and fulfill the contract. We will all walk away from this with a good amount of wealth."

"And how do you suggest we find a way to get past this military presence you speak of?" Zeb asked.

"That's where you guys come in," The Recluse pointed towards the Lasat, "You need to scout the patterns of the guards and the grade of any artillery they are packing two weeks from today."

"You didn't say anything about this earlier." Sabine interrupted.

"Is there a problem?" The Stranger's voice was daring Sabine to answer yes.

"If you expect us to do more work for you, then you better be ready to add a few credits to our cut." Sabine got to her feet unintimidated.

"You are in no position to be making demands." Recluse barked; walking towards the bold woman.

The Mandalorian's shipmates all had their hands on their weapons of choice, ready to take action in the event the Recluse got any ideas.

"You know as well as I do that you need our help, or else you will miss out on bounty you practically stalked me to help you claim." Sabine went in for the kill; figuratively, of course, "So I suggest you cough up an extra five percent to our cut."

After a solid ten seconds of silence, the Recluse gave in.

"Fine." He grunted.

"Then you got yourself a recon team." Sabine's helmet hid a victorious smirk.

Sabine could hear a sigh of relief come from one of her crewmates, although she couldn't distinguish who it was. The Mandalorian slowly sat back down in her seat and crossed one leg over the other.

"She's got moxie." The Recluse commented.

The Ghost Rebels resisted the urge to chuckle. The Stranger's choice of words was very similar to theirs when they first met Sabine and experienced her fiery personality firsthand.

"What happens after the job is complete?" Ezra asked.

"One of ya will accompany me to meet with my client," Recluse wrapped up his briefing as he disconnected the mechanical box from the holoterminal, "Then and only then will you get your payment, I don't want you to get any funny ideas of turning on me and taking my share."

"Anything else?" Kanan got back on his feet.

"I just need you to tell me if you are with me or against me on this." Recluse walked up to Kanan, "This contract has no room for the peace-loving or the spineless."

Kanan looked around and could sense the desire to accept the Stranger's offer burning in Zeb, Sabine, and even Ezra's very being. Hera was the only one who shared his current standing: uncertain.

"I am in." Zeb was the first to speak, "I understand if you have some reservations Outlaw, but I'm willing to take this route if it gets us off this planet."

"I agree with Warbeast." Ezra sided with the Lasat; much to Kanan's worry*.

"Same here," Sabine said with just as much commitment.

"Sparrow?" Kanan turned to the green-skinned alien.

"I'm with you on this one, Outlaw," Hera trusted Kanan's judgment.

"Well?" Recluse asked before extending his hand; much to the rebels' surprise.

Kanan took one final look at his crew and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath in and out.

Kanan took the Stranger's hand and shook it, sealing the pact and committing to the plan.

* * *

 **Annnnnnd, that's a wrap! As usual, I bear hopes that your reading experience was an enjoyable one. Let me know what you think about the quality of the chapters. I've been working hard to improve the quality of my chapters instead of their quantity.**

 **In your reviews, I would like to know if you think my OC is balanced, if not, then why. Do you think the stories pace is right? All thoughts are appreciated but know that I will not do everything you suggest I do, but I will use any advice to help improve my writing. The inconsistent use of contractions is intentional. I will update around the time I reach 20 reviews.**

 **Since I am not a fan of the one shot kill business in the series, I decided that for armored individuals such as Stormtroopers, a certain number of shots will be needed to kill them.**

 **Blaster Pistol = Three to Four shots (one if it is in the head)**

 **Assault Blaster = Two to Three (Again, one if it is in the head)**

 **Blaster Rifle = Usually one (sometimes two)**

 **Rocket and grenade launchers = Take a guess XD**

 **Mini Gun = Eight to a Dozen**

 **Lightsaber = Determinant**

 **An unarmored individual will likely be knocked down by a well-placed shot if it doesn't kill them.**

 **A/N: I'm aware that Sabine was a bit quick tempered this chapter. That was the product of the stress she's endured and lack of proper rest. They are a deadly mix; I speak from experience.**

 **A/N: With Mandalorians, they only let their native tongue slip out when they are angry, upset, or with fellow Mandos. And the Crimson Brotherhood is real in the Star Wars universe, just not that well known XD.**

 **For those of you who think five percent is puny, take this into account: five percent of 250,000 (the rebels' cut) is 12,500, and the Recluse has reluctantly added that five percent as a bonus in** _ **addition**_ **to their original share.**

 ***: Throughout the story I will include hints towards Ezra's run-ins with the ways of the Sith instead of a sudden change.**


	3. Friend or Fake?

The Deserter

Chapter 3

Friend or Fake?

 **Hello again, readers. First, I would like to thank the few that did review. Although I was a bit discouraged by the few comments, I will continue nonetheless. Just know, that the length of your review doesn't bother me, even if it merely says something along the lines of update soon, or not bad, I feel appreciated.**

 **I will not complain, however, about the followers and favorites I've been getting, I hope it continues ;)**

 **A/N: The Ghosts and the Recluse aren't by any means friends it just had a nice ring to it.**

 **Disclaimer: I think we all know that if I owned Star Wars, Starkiller would be in Star Wars Rebels instead of Darth Maul.**

* * *

Aboard the Ghost….

Words couldn't describe how good Sabine felt when she laid herself on her bunk. The Mandalorian no longer fought to keep her eyelids open, and instead welcomed the relief of sleep. She removed her helmet and weapons, placing them under her bunk and next to her storage unit and rested her head on the makeshift pillow she had grown accustomed to long ago.

After lying on her back for a few minutes, Sabine shifted to sleeping on her side; maybe that would entice her brain into shutting off for at least a couple of hours.

After thirty more minutes of tossing and turning without sleep Sabine knew that she wasn't going to get any rest just by changing the way she sat.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me." Sabine murmured under her breath.

Preferring to suffer this episode of insomnia with at least some form of relaxation the rebel reached under her bunk and retrieved a datapad along with some earbuds, which she plugged into the device and her ears, hoping some Imperial comm chatter would take her mind off of the events of this busy day.

Sabine lied back down on her bunk, started to play the imperial broadcasts, closed her eyes, and listened.

" _Imperial-Mandalorian Academy has produced another set of promising young men and women who will bring the terrorist cells to justice. In related news, one of the Academy's first teams, Hornet Squad, led by Viceroy Gar Saxon has brought in three more of the academy's deserters that are currently awaiting trial, although a public execution is very likely."_

"The ol' desertion penalty." Sabine yawned, "Makes me all the happier for leaving that nightmare behind."

And it was true, in fact, it was the only reason why Sabine didn't leave the Imperials behind sooner. The promise of a fair trial was Bantha dung, used only to prevent sympathy for the traitors. The penalty was - and still is -death.

" _Only one deserter remains, report any sightings of…."_

Without opening her eyes, Sabine changed the channel to listen to rebroadcasted news from the past month or two. All seemed to be working.

" _Clone War Museum raided by pirates. Individuals in red armor have killed or wounded the security detail defending the artifacts of the era before our great Empire's birth. Raiders are suspected to have sold the stolen property if you have seen any of…."_

The devices came out of Sabine's ears as she rolled onto her stomach. Sleep had finally come, but the Mando didn't get the remaining part of the broadcast.

" _The following items, please report to the Imperial authorities immediately, you will receive payment for any actionable intel provided."_

 _The staff of Poggle the Lesser from the Battle of Geonosis_

 _Sith Lightsaber from the Scourge of Malachor_

 _Tablet from the Ruins of Korriban_

 _Darksaber from the Tomb of Clan Varad_

" _That is all the information we can disclose at this time."_

* * *

Two weeks later….

" _This is Sparrow to Warbeast, over."_ Hera's voice rang through Zeb's comlink.

Zeb pulled the macrobinoculars away from his eyes and pressed the response button on his communications device.

"This is Warbeast, I read you Sparrow, send it."Zeb had to speak up a bit to prevent the clutter of the countless passing speeders from drowning out his voice.

" _The Recluse wants to know if there have been any further developments in security."_ Hera sighed; none of the Ghost crew liked working with the somewhat disrespectful mercenary.

"The term patience doesn't seem to exist in this guy's vocabulary, does it?" Zeb groaned, "I only got here fifteen minutes ago, give or take."

" _Warbeast."_

"Right right." Zeb placed the macrobinoculars back up to his eyes and turned his attention to the area of Nar Shaddaa the Empire had apparently reserved for the upcoming event.

The Empire had begun to arrive about half a week after the meeting with the Recluse. It started small, one Nebula-class Star Destroyer along with two or three Gozanti-class carriers with two AT-DPs each. Then after three days they brought IDTs loaded with riot troopers that are now patrolling the reserved sector relentlessly. Five days after that an entire Star Destroyer arrived and could be seen hovering out of the planet's orbit, from there troops were deployed to set the stage for the official's arrival and cleared the area for the audience attending the occasion.

"The only thing that is new is a load of Imperial banners," Zeb reported.

" _Updating the schematics now,"_ Hera stated before a solid minute of silence passed, _"Recluse wants the updates delivered to him personally, Twister will link up with you at the Blackguard. Sparrow, out."_

Zeb took out his datapad and had it survey the area and update on the new décor. Upon completing the trivial task, stored the device and made his way to the Strangers ship slash home. Zeb had delivered the surveillance to the Recluse before, and his base of operations was about as uninviting as its owner.

* * *

One hour later….

After one hour of walking and avoiding the occasional pirate who would shoot a glare or two, Zeb finally made it to the _Blackguard's_ place of dwelling: a vast area of the slums allowed it to be seen by all; which anyone who possessed even the smallest amount of artistic acumen would deem as unfortunate.

The _Blackguard_ was an old Crusader-class corvette that, unfortunately, was subject to the mercenary's sloppy painting. Like his armor, only the head seemed to show any actual effort or care when being customized. From what Zeb could determine, the Stranger was trying to make the head look like a mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. A decent effort, however, a few too many seemed to be out of place.

The customization of the corvette's sleek midsection connecting the cockpit to the engines allegedly made Sabine shiver; not from appearance, just from the obvious lack of effort and quality. It was hard to tell what it was intended to look like as one coat of paint tried to cover another.

At first, it may have been intended to resemble a sub nautical super predator, as made evident by the faint highlights of gills and scales. But then the Recluse seemed to have had a change of heart halfway through his work and went for the appearance of an arthropod; much like his armor. He applied a green coat of paint over the would-be aquatic animal and made an attempt to make six ambulatory limbs. The results weren't pretty.

"Hey, Warbeast." A filtered female voice from behind the Lasat startled Zeb to levels of shock could give anyone a heart attack.

Zeb spun around quickly to see it was only Sabine. She was raising her arms to reassure her teammate she wasn't a hoodlum.

"Karabast, Twister!" Zeb slowed his breathing to calm himself, "You know I don't like it when Gearbox does that, you are no exception!"

"Sorry big guy." Sabine apologized.

"Glad you could make it." The all too familiar voice of the Recluse remarked.

Sabine turned her head to see he had situated himself on crate and was cleaning a Valken-38 Sniper Rifle; experimentally looking down the scope every now and again.

"If you don't mind, I would like to get on with my day," Zeb crossed his arms.

"Agreed." The Recluse nonchalantly agreed as he strapped his rifle to his back and got on his feet; stretching a bit to wake up the limbs.

The Mercenary led the Lasat and Mandalorian up to the docking ramp and punched in a code to open the blast door. Waiting there to greet them was Sabine has come to call: Protocol Chopper.

"Sir, I am pleased to inform you that the Crimson Brotherhood has the item you reques…." a silver plated droid was cut off by his master.

"Not now, Omri." The Recluse grunted.

"My apologies sir." Omri bowed apologetically; his even and emotionless voice made it hard to tell if the statement was sincere.

0-MR1, or Omri as his owner called him, was an RA-7 model Protocol Droid with silver plating and an attitude that was a bit similar to the Recluse's. Personally, Sabine had no qualms or problems with the droid; spending years around Chopper gave her a virtually endless fuse when dealing the controversial attitudes most droids seemed to possess. At least Omri _tried_ to be polite.

"Twister, and… Warbeast, correct?" Omri pointed at the Lasat in question; who gave a simple nod, "Here to deliver the data I presume. May I offer you some refreshments?"

"I will pass, appreciate the offer, Omri." Sabine politely declined.

"I'm good." Zeb did likewise. Trust between the Recluse and the Ghost crew had a _long_ way to go before they could even think about exchanging gifts.

The insides of the _Blackguard_ were exactly as Sabine saw them the last time she had to deliver the data with Ezra. The walls were punctured all over from what appeared to be plasma burns, but they were all sealed, most likely by hand. The Recluse seemed to be a better mechanic than he was an artist; albeit his work was still pretty shoddy. Empty cartridges littered the hallway and, as usual, the doors were closed, sealed, and locked.

Whenever the female Mandalorian entered, the only room that wasn't sealed completely was the holoterminal room where the Recluse would review the data before letting whoever served as the courier, go. Sure enough, the briefing room was left open and only lit by the light from the holographic display terminal and the glowing controls.

Zeb wordlessly entered, but the Recluse stayed outside the door and stopped Sabine from following her friend.

"Not you." The Recluse addressed the artist, "You are the last thing I need today."

As he turned to enter the room, Sabine gave a final question.

"Is this for injuring you or for the extra five percent?"

"Both." The door sealed shut immediately after the answer left the Mercenary's mouth.

"Real mature." Sabine murmured sarcastically.

The sound of metallic footsteps made Sabine turn around to see 0-MR1 standing directly across from her.

"What is it Omri?" Sabine crossed her arms.

"My master wants me to keep you under supervision. From what I have heard you aren't the type of person who doesn't challenge authority." Omri replied.

Sabine wordlessly leaned against the wall and tried to find a way to entertain herself since Omri wasn't exactly the type of droid who was up for chit chat. The Mandalorian decided to count the number of plasma burns she could find.

While looking for burn number twenty-one, she noticed something she had seemed to have escaped her notice when she entered the Recluse's abode: an open door not too far away from the exit.

Curiosity won over Sabine's mind, who was now eager to learn the contents of this unsealed area. The only pressing concerns were how much time she had before Zeb was finished going over the data and how to lose Omri, who was watching her like a hawk.

"I feel bad for you Omri." Sabine casually stated; grateful that her helmet hid her smirk.

"On what reason do you build your sudden sympathy?" the silver droid asked inquisitively.

"Aren't you supposed to keep your master's ship in top condition?" Sabine asked.

"That is one of my function, yes." 0-MR1 responded.

"Then you might be replaced if the Recluse finds that failed to find and repair the compromised landing gear." Sabine evaluated nonchalantly.

It was more of a half truth then a lie. One of the landing gears was in pretty bad shape and bore a few marks, even so, it wouldn't tamper with its function in any way shape or form.

"A compromised landing gear?" Omri repeated and his hand up to his chin, or what a droid would consider a chin, and appeared to be contemplating whether or not to investigate the matter.

Sabine unknowingly held her breath as she began to doubt whether or not Omri fell for her ploy.

"Well that will never do," Omri decided, "I must address this problem immediately. Please come with me."

Sabine quickly came up with an excuse.

"Could you first point me towards this ship's kitchen," Sabine asked with a fake cough to imply that she was dehydrated, "I promise I'll meet you at the landing gear afterward."

Omri paused for a moment to once again contemplate what action he should take.

"Very well, just be quick about it." The protocol droid relented and pointed behind Sabine to a door that appeared to be midway between the briefing room and the corvette's cockpit.

Omri turned and wasted no time in leaving the ship and addressing the allegedly hazardous abnormality. Sabine almost felt a little bad for leading the duty-bound droid astray.

Once Omri was out of sight, the female Mandalorian made her way to the open room as quickly and quietly as she could while listening for any indication that the owner of the ship was leaving the room. The only sounds that greeted her ears came from the Mando's own beating heart and occasional tattletale sign that Omri was using a power tool.

* * *

Sabine entered, not knowing what to expect.

The room was modest in size, tidy in cleanliness, and organized in storage. A cot was set up in the corner with sheets straightened and spread and the pillow placed in the middle of the makeshift bed. A desk of sorts stood out from the wall, a rotatable seat placed in front of it. A few visibly secure ordinance lockers were lined up on the room's right wall. Across from the lockers was a sloppily painted target that had multiple knives stuck in the center.

"This is the Recluse's room." Sabine murmured to herself.

The Mandalorian seized the opportunity to find out more about the man her crew was helping.

Sabine started by collecting one of the surprisingly few empty bottles from the rooms floor and giving it a quick sniff. Just soda. She went to the target and examined it to find that the knife marks never fell outside of the target's center.

" _He either planted them there himself or is a better marksman than he is a mechanic."_ Sabine thought to herself before moving on to the ordinance lockers.

The Mandalorian's curiosity compelled her to give the storage unit an experimental tug. True to their appearance, the lockers were locked up tight. The thought of guessing the combination to unlock the units and learn the identities of their contents crossed Sabine's mind, but the risk of an alarm being hooked into them swiftly banished the notion entirely.

The rebel finally shifted her focus to the Recluse's desk and gave it the same examination treatment she did with the lockers and litter. A bowl of still steaming Exodeenian pasta covered with sauce sat to the right of a glass of blue milk, or Bantha milk. An active datapad rested to the left of the mercenary's meal.

Sabine picked it up and saw that the Recluse was reading up on the biology of the Karkarodonian Hydroid Medusa, the very same types of monsters used by Separatist leader Riff Tamson during the Battle of Mon Cala.

"Interesting choice." Sabine murmured to herself.

She turned the datapad to find the symbol of the Empire on its back. The young artist's quick and brief sensation of surprise made the datapad slip through her fingers and plummet towards the floor. Sabine's quick reflexes and a sudden rush of adrenaline allowed her to grab the device before hitting the ground.

Sabine let out a sigh of relief and carefully returned it to its original position. The impact of the replacement, as small as it was, dislodged something attached to the underbelly of the counter, the rebel was made aware of its existence by the small clatter it made.

Sabine bent down and picked it up to get a better view of the item. It was a yellow medal of sorts, a red clip erected from the top, it was circular in shape and had the symbol of Mandalore encrusted within the Empire's symbol.

The blood in Sabine's veins ran cold. Only one type of soldiers would even get the chance to earn one of these; she, herself, would have received one if she stayed at the academy through graduation.

"Care to explain what you are doing?" the Recluse's voice startled Sabine.

She quickly put the medal back underneath the desk and turned to face the man who was becoming more and more unsettling with every fact about him she learned.

Although his helmet concealed his face, Sabine could already tell that he was not happy.

Sabine quickly formulated an excuse and some probing questions; she knew better than to call him out on being loyal to the empire immediately without any solid evidence.

"I was looking for your kitchen, needed a drink." Sabine lied.

"Why didn't Omri take you there?" the Recluse asked suspiciously; thankfully for Sabine, she already had an alibi.

"There was a damaged landing gear he needed to fix," Sabine replied, "I guess I got lost."

"That you did, Twister, that you did." The Recluse had a massive amount of frustration in his voice, "Unless there is anything else you need, get out now."

Sabine knew that the comment was a sarcastic one, but she acted like she didn't catch on.

"I would like to know why you have so much imperial gear." Sabine feigned innocence.

"Who doesn't?" The Recluse groaned, "These things have made me more money than a soldier makes in a month. Now get out before I lose my patience!"

"Okay okay." Sabine raised her hands and casually exited the _Blackguard_ to find Zeb waiting for her, arms crossed and brow furrowed. It made Sabine feel like a teenager whose parents found she stayed out after curfew.

* * *

With no form of farewell, the Ghost rebels left for home, but Zeb wasn't going to let Sabine off easy without sharing some information first.

"I know you entered the unsealed room, Twister," Zeb stated calmly without even turning his head away from the path ahead of him.

"What can I say? I was curious." Sabine gave a light chuckle.

"What did you find in there?" Zeb asked with a serious tone in his voice.

Sabine paused for a moment, an action; or their lack of, that didn't go unnoticed by the Lasat.

"Probably what one would expect in personal quarters, discarded soda, makeshift target, a cot, and a few storage units."

"I meant anything noteworthy."

"Unless he planted the knives himself, the constant hits on the target's center suggest he is a better marksman than he is a painter. He had an entry on the biology of the Hydroid Medusa pulled up on a datapad bearing the Empire's symbol."

"So he steals from the Empire, huh?" Zeb mused, "Not too different from ourselves I suppose. Was there anything else."

Sabine was uncertain about revealing her discovery the Imperial Graduate Medal to her friend; she wasn't even sure if the Recluse earned it or simply stole it. One thing was for sure: Sabine was going to find an answer to this, regardless of how long it would take.

"I don't know." Sabine fibbed.

The response provoked a bit of disappointment from Zeb.

"Alright then, I just hope that little escapade was worth it because I can guarantee he won't leave that door open again."

Sabine merely nodded.

The remainder of the journey devoid of conversation and filled with thoughts.

* * *

 **And that is a wrap! Review if you've read, follow if you are eager for more, favorite if you love it!**

 **A/N: I am aware that this may seem a little premature at first.** _ **However,**_ **I did want to give you guys an idea why this story is called The Deserter. Speaking of which, I have a little announcement to make!**

 **Announcement: I've decided to give you guys a virtual prize for winning the contests I create at the end of most of my chapters. There need to be at least five participants for even the winner to receive a prize of getting their name featured on the Deserter Clan list. If you have won more than once, I will add an asterisk to your name for each extra win to signify you have moved up in the ranks.**

 **This chapters contest is:**

 **Can you guess what the Recluse's discernable talent is? He isn't a tech geek or a close quarters specialist, and he sure as heck isn't a painter. Can you try to solve who the Recluse originally served before taking up his current way of life?**

 ***0-MR1 is NOT an OC, he is a protocol droid in the Force Awakens. I figured his stoic and somewhat sarcastic attitude would make him the perfect droid to accompany the Recluse.**

 **Good luck!**

 **Glory to Mandalore!**


	4. Disturbing Discoveries

The Deserter

Chapter 4

Disturbing Discoveries

 **Hello everyone, Darksawr here to bring you another chapter of the Deserter! I apologize for the wait, but I hope this is worth the wait (it certainly took me a long time and with a cold no less XD). I regret to say that the time between my updates will be inconsistent and may vary depending on the number of readers and my schedule. BUT, there is some good news, a few chapters in the future are complete. Inspiration strikes but not always in the way you want.**

 **To one of my reviewers and friends whose been with me from the beginning Awesome Bill from Dawsonville, I did take your advice and personally I regret not taking it sooner I thank you :). Keep me posted if you have any advice or ideas.**

 **A/N: For all of you who have seen Rogue One, you may have noticed some references to Rebels. You'll find some Rogue One characters sneak their way into my story, especially the Death Troopers. Who can look at me with a straight face and say you didn't think they were cool? *waits* I thought not.**

 **Without further adieu, let the chapter begin!**

 **Disclaimer: I think we all know who owns what.**

* * *

Four hours later:

The Lasat and female Mandalorian had returned home, the former electing to see if the ship's captain needed any assistance and the latter claimed to desire a small break.

The best kind of lie was a half-truth. Sabine retreated into her quarters and sealed the door. It was time for the rebel to conduct a little investigation of her own.

* * *

" _If this Recluse is a spy, then why aren't Stormtroopers turning the planet upside down to find us, I am certain that he didn't steal that medal, they don't have much monetary value in them."_ Sabine thought as she booted up her datapad and surfed the Imperial Holonetwork.

The Mandalorian transferred the data from her helmet cam a spare holo-comm that pulled up an image of the Recluse in his tragedy of painted armor. On the pad, an image of a Hornet Squad Soldier was pulled up, the snow white gear a stark contrast from the Recluse's armor.

The images began to overlap and made the resemblance visible. Underneath all that rust and mixed paint, the suits of armor shared the same design.

"I knew it looked familiar." Sabine murmured.

But the revelation brought more questions than answers. Imperial Supercommandos never conducted undercover operations, just as they never stepped away from their viceroy Saxon. Judging by the stranger's lack of physical skill, acquisition by theft wasn't likely. Unless…

The Mandalorian's eyes widened involuntarily and browsed the record Imperial Broadcasts and narrowed the results by desertion reports.

Apparently, five Mandalorians attempted to leave the academy just as Sabine had done, but they weren't as fortunate. All but one have been captured and recently executed for treason. The files used for the wanted board were still available for viewing, so Sabine opened them one by one.

 **Name: Callum Kyre**

 **Callsign: Hornet Two**

 **Gender: Male**

 **Crime: Desertion**

 **Wanted: Alive**

 **Reward: 10,000 unmarked credits**

 **Bounty Status: Claimed.**

"Target: Executed." Sabine read the last part aloud.

The next file was pulled up without a second thought.

 **Name: Sahl Liq**

 **Callsign: Hornet Seven**

 **Gender: Male**

 **Crime: Desertion**

 **Wanted: Alive**

 **Reward: 15,000**

 **Bounty Status: Claimed.**

 **Target: Executed.**

The bounty increased increments of five thousand with each deserter removed from the board.

 **Name: Lahn Liq**

 **Callsign: Hornet Six**

 **Gender: Female**

 **Crime: Desertion**

 **Wanted: Alive**

 **Reward: 25,000**

 **Bounty Status: Claimed.**

 **Target: Executed.**

Sabine granted herself nothing more than a small shred of condolence for the fallen.

 **Name: Maxus Oberon**

 **Callsign: Hornet Ten**

 **Gender: Male**

 **Crime: Desertion**

 **Wanted: Alive**

 **Reward: 30,000**

 **Bounty Status: Claimed.**

 **Target: Executed.**

The last fugitive's name was missing from the file. All that remained was a gender, crime, condition wanted, and a handsome bounty of credits for capture.

 **Gender: Male**

 **Callsign: Hornet Three**

 **Crime: Desertion and Theft of Imperial Droid**

 **Wanted: Dead or Alive**

 **Reward: 50,000 (Dead) 100,000 (Alive)**

 **Bounty Status: Open**

 **Target: On the lam**

 **Suspected Locations: Nar Shaddaa, Nal Hutta, and Ord Mantell.**

 **Likely affiliation: Crimson Brotherhood, Nova Guard, or Black Sun.**

The more she looked into Hornet Three, the bigger the chance of the Mandalorian's hypothesis becoming valid got. The holo net had plenty of images of Hornet Squadron armed with their weapons of choice, including Hornet Three, but none without their helmets. It stood to reason, though, a soldier of the Empire could never remove their helmet unless ordered to do otherwise. Only the officials who ranked among Gar Saxon and Vult Skerris were exempt from the regulation.

Sabine didn't need to see the Imperial Commando's face to learn who he was, the Imperial Academy's public records would give her the last piece of the puzzle. After spending a decent amount of time reviewing the suspect's one notable achievement the Mandalorian had solved the puzzle.

Although the Empire kept personal information to themselves, they didn't shy away from bragging about their military capabilities and the talents each student possessed. Based on the files, Hornet Three was the odd man out, the bottom of his class, reportedly having physical skills that are barely equivalent to that of the average Stormtrooper. But Gar Saxon tolerated this weakness because of Hornet Three's one redeeming quality: his accuracy.

Sabine was slightly impressed. Hornet Three had set the academy's sharpshooting record due to training hours in all other fields being thrown away and dedicated solely to his preferred weapon. Explained why he seemed to be unable to patch up minor damages to his own ship and untangle a few crossed wires on his holoterminal.

These traits fit the Recluse like a glove.

"I'd bet our share of the bounty that the droid Hornet Three stole was Omri." Sabine mused.

The information changed things drastically. The Graduation Gift, once a mere piece of metal, was now a warning of possible danger to Sabine's family. The Recluse, once a disrespectful mercenary, had become a simultaneous potential alternative for obtaining the required funds and a danger to their safety.

Sabine immediately felt a tinge of regret stab at her conscience for not telling Zeb about the medal. However, she wouldn't be too surprised if Zeb was already experiencing similar suspicions regarding their "friend."

The Mandalorian also felt the need to inform her compatriots as soon as she could. This problem wasn't one she could solve by herself any longer, it couldn't be thrown into the pile of secrets Sabine keeps. The Recluse was a threat to her family.

" _Nasaade jurkadirs ti aliit."_ Sabine murmured to herself.

* * *

 **That's a wrap! I apologize if the chapter was short, I just wanted to let you guys know I'm still alive and kicking. Shoutout for whoever can translate Sabine's words.**

 **A/N: Belive it or not the main reason why it took me so long to post this chapter is the conflict within me regarding how Sabine should inform crew and what course of action it may elicit. I'm thinking of having them make a plan B out of capturing the Recluse and turning him over to the local authorities in the event he stabs them in the back, but I'd like to hear some ideas from you guys** **. So if you review please give me some ideas, I'll give a shoutout to anyone who gives me an idea I want to integrate into my own and full credit for the concept and procedure (I know it's a small one or two paragraph long thing but I feel that I should give credit where it is due).**

 **Good News: I have the next chapter underway and halfway complete! I can resume work once I have decided how to begin it (yes, I sometimes write the beginning last).**

 **Read, Review, and Enjoy!**

 **Glory to Mandalore!**


	5. Assassination of a Pawn

The Deserter

Chapter 5

Assassination of a Pawn

 **It's here! It's finally here. I come with the fifth chapter of the story. I hope that its length makes up for the last ones. Thank you all so much for your reviews, they help me more than you know. I hope the wait wasn't too long this time around. This took me weeks to complete!**

 **Shoutouts earned for successful Mandalorian translation:**

SPARTAN-626

Burke23

 **Congrats you two!**

 **A/N: I am on the lookout for someone to help me set up the environments for my chapters. I have a tough time describing them and sharing the image in my head. So if any of you can help me with the setting, I will be extremely grateful. If I do wind up using one of them I will give credit to the person who proposed it. Additionally, I am in need of a combat helper, if you have any tips on how to best write an action scene let me know in the reviews or send me a PM if you are interested in helping me directly. I definitely believe I can do better than this, so any help will be greatly appreciated.**

 **I love it when you guys participate in these friendly little competitions, you are all awesome!**

 **One more thing, I would like to apologize for the wait. I try to make sure my chapters aren't rushed and are in the best quality I can get them in before releasing it to you guys, that takes extra time. However, I am confident that once the crew is officially off of Nar Shaddaa, then I'll be able to pick up the pace.**

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Star Wars, Starkiller would replace Maul in Rebels.**

* * *

Six days later

The activity of collecting thoughts has become a regular activity for the crew's Mandalorian painter. The Mandalorian reasoned it was the lack of blaster fire and deafening explosions that transitioned her mind into a state of contemplation rather than tactical fabrication. Although it didn't come close to becoming a substitute for the daily dose of action Mandalorians craved, it staved off boredom all the same. Heck, Sabine was willing to bet her blaster pistols that the others were in a similar state as herself.

The understanding and cooperative response the rebel's compatriots gave was unexpected, but not unwelcomed. As it turned out, the other members of the Ghost crew; especially Zeb, already shared Sabine's suspicions, and this was before the spunky rebel shared her discovery of the medal. The latest discovery was icing on the cake for the teams' conjectures.

Long story short, a plan B was born, one that would – if followed correctly – get the gang off the infested planet. It was simple but effective all the same.

The task of accompanying the Recluse to retrieve the payment for the op made it easy for the Rebels to keep tabs on the mercenary. Sabine didn't hesitate to fill that role and sharpen her knife with extreme prejudice. If the bounty from the Crimson Brotherhood wouldn't be their ticket off the planet, the bounty on the Recluse's head would. Dead or Alive.

While her teammates would serve as recon for the route to the designated sniper's nest, Sabine was to stun or kill the Recluse should he show any signs of betrayal. With stun darts for the former option and a knife for the latter. They would bring the man to the recently deployed ISB faction in binders or a body bag.

The orders she was given regarding the stranger's fate still didn't sit well with her.

* * *

Two days earlier…

"Credit for your thoughts?" The all too familiar voice of the ship's green skinned captain brought Sabine out of her mental preparation.

"I've had a lot more than usual since we got stranded," Sabine admitted with a smile as she looked from her quarter's floor up to Hera, "You?"

The Twi'lek sat next to Sabine on the bunk.

"I could say the same," the pilot replied with a tired chuckle; the amount of care she put into maintaining the Ghost was nothing short of incredible, "The op?"

"Read my mind."

"Not often I get to accompany you and the others on the ground. Been working on my aim."

A chuckle resounded from the Mandalorian.

"I still don't see why we couldn't just take our cut from the hit and turn the Recluse in," Sabine said more to herself than to her friend, "Force knows we could use the credits."

"Sabine, we've been over this," Hera sighed and chuckled at the same time, "If Recluse is as well connected to the Crimson Brotherhood as he says he is and learns of our affiliation he will turn _us_ in…"

"And our heads will we removed on the Holonet as examples of what happens to dissidents of the Empire." Sabine rolled her eyes, "I know."

"Then don't ask," Hera wasn't offended, "We can't afford to draw any more attention to ourselves. Why else do you think I don't let any of you leave the ship without a helmet or mask?"

"But…"

"Turn him in only if he tries to harm you or shows signs of ratting us out." Hera reaffirmed sternly, "If we are linked to the assassination and we turn him into the Imperial Authorities we run the risk of getting captured and, like you said, executed."

* * *

It seemed as though the more time the crew spent doing work for the mercenary, the less they talked with one another about something other than the mission, for whatever reason Sabine found that unsettling. It made Sabine all the more grateful that tomorrow her family could finally leave and rejoin the battle against the Empire.

On that note, Sabine found it prudent to go to sleep. She took out her datapad and put in her earbuds for a nighttime dose of imperial broadcasts.

After a few propaganda speeches, the young woman dozed off, dreading the events to come.

* * *

The next day…

"'Bout time you showed." Recluse grumbled when his eyes found the approaching Ghost crew.

" _Ain't he just a ray of sunshine?"_ Sabine thought.

"Let's get this over with." Kanan's voice, although filtered, made it clear he wasn't in the mood for starting a conversation with the merc.

"I'm glad to see you are on point, I trust you have a plan for drawing attention away from me?" Recluse inquired.

"Not too big to for the Empire to call off their assembly, not too small for them ignore," Hera answered.

"And if you have to kill?"

"Leave no survivors, otherwise we run the risk being compromised," Ezra finished, "We have been over this."

"Alright then, which one you will be accompanying me as my spotter?"

"That would be Twister." Zeb pointed to Mandalorian.

"The firecracker?"

"She is best suited for the job, if you want to get your pay then you won't argue." Ezra boldly threatened the stranger.

"You got moxie kid," The male Mando chuckled, "I like that. One more thing you'll need for the mission."

The armored man took off his supply pack and rummaged through it for twenty seconds before revealing silencers. They were a dime a dozen, but just as a ship needs an astromech for combat, a blaster needs a suppressor for stealth.

The tools were accepted and implanted without a word. Ezra had to hold back a chuckle at how silly the attachments made Zeb's bo-rifle look.

"Follow me Twister, hope you know how to climb." the stranger approached a building with a rugged looking wall.

He scaled the wall with a visible amount of difficulty.

Sabine chuckled in spite of herself.

"Good luck." The Mando addressed her compatriots.

"And to you as well." Kanan nodded.

The young woman scaled the same wall with relative ease and was greeted by Recluse.

"Not bad." Recluse admitted.

Sabine didn't reply, she just jumped the gap to the next building's top.

"I hope she will be okay." Hera's murmur was a display of concern akin to that of a mother for her child.

* * *

Jump, check, jump. The process continued and after a total of ten structures were either scaled or traversed atop the Imperial occupation began to appear.

The garden-variety Stormtroopers that the rebels were used to seeing had allies with armor they hadn't seen before. The helmet slanted by at its back to protect the neck and the visor was more like a T. Additionally their armor looked a bit more clunky and spread out than their fellows. The newcomers also carried electrostaffs instead of the standard issue E-11 blaster.

A soft explosion drew them away from their patrols and jogged to the source of the disturbance; their visible struggle to maintain the pace made it obvious that that armor wasn't light.

Instinct compelled Sabine to tune her helmet-comm's frequency to Imperial chatter.

" _This is ST-8642, a disturbance was detected in sector NE 2944."_

" _Probably vandals, send your squad to investigate."_

The Empire's habit of sending copious amounts of soldiers to investigate red herrings was alive and well.

The Mando was taken from her thoughts when the Recluse grabbed her arm and dragged her behind a communication dish. Sabine was about to utter a few choice words to the Recluse before he gestured to a building parallel theirs.

Sabine pulled down her antenna to zoom into the location specified by the mercenary. The white armor made spotting the cause for the male Mandalorian's actions easy. An Imperial scout surveyed the area with a rifle in hand, ready to gun down anyone who stepped out of line.

When Sabine reached for her pistol, the mercenary was quick to interject.

"Leave this to me."

"Be my guest." The rebel's attention returned to the attentive soldier.

A suppressed blast tickled the artist's eardrums and the sight of a red streak driving straight through the scout's forehead greeted her eyes.

"Not bad."

"You ain't seen nothin yet."

Yup, he was full of himself.

Thankfully for Sabine, the chance to damage the stranger's ego came sooner than expected in the form of a jump to a building of greater height and distance. Admittedly, not even the female rebel could make that jump, not without a boost at least.

Three silenced rounds of a rifle brought the focus back to Recluse, who currently catching his breath and shooting scout troops for fun. He had a sick sense of entertainment.

After some goading, the stranger reluctantly agreed to boost the artist over the gap.

Sabine got as much of a running start as she could on the roof and sprinted towards the squatting merc. A leap forward placed the Mandalorian in his cupped hands where he pulled up as quickly as he could and gave Sabine the headstart she needed to grab the wall and climb to the top.

The Recluse made use of a vambrace and shot its gripped to the building's ledge and tried to vault himself to the rebel's position.

The lack of care for the tool showed as the mercenary neared the top. The cable snapped sending him plummeting to what would've been his demise had Sabine not acted. The fall was cut short by a strong but strained grip on his wrist.

Pain compelled Sabine to grit her teeth as she struggled to hoist the arrogant sniper to safety.

Recluse took hold of the ledge as soon as the opportunity presented itself and did the rest of the work. Sabine was grateful for that, any more strain and her arm may have gotten dislocated.

"You should take better care of your gear." The Mandalorian chastised the hitman.

The man didn't answer and instead leaped to the closer building. Sabine finally came to a conclusion: the mercenary's lack of manners wasn't worth getting upset about.

After seeing him in action, the red hair dyed rebel concluded more things about the strange. He had marksmanship to rival the legendary Rako Hardeen, and the attitude of Chopper and a Hutt combined.

The process of transversing the slums and hearing the occasional indication of a distraction being executed seemed to go on for hours with the only excitement being a few scouts in need of silencing until they finally reached the Recluse's choice for his sniper's nest.

* * *

The Recluse went prone atop the apartment building. Sabine had an excellent view of the Imperial Sanction stage and could see the target coming into view. The man stood by the stand he was to use for the address. Unexpectedly another man came into the picture accompanied by six towering soldiers clad in jet black armor and armed to the teeth, three on each side of their superior officer. The man protected had a neatly combed head of graying hair that was partially concealed by a cap as black as his bodyguards' armor. It's a giant difference from the white uniform he was wearing with a visible sum of pride. The newcomer stood next to the target with a smile plastered on his mug.

Sabine noticed that there was the difference between the target and this unexpected individual. The latter's expression was less of a smile and more a smug smirk, one that screamed arrogance. But the former's countenance seemed sincere and filled with genuine care and sympathy for the crowd, whom the Mandalorian had noted consisted mostly of people that were likely in the middle of the gang wars.

The female Mandalorian shook these thoughts away and devoted her focus back to the mission.

"You got him in your sights, Recluse." The Macrobinoculars granting her view to an otherwise invisible red dot sight trained between the hit's eyes, "Take the shot."

"Not yet."

"What?!"

"We're getting paid to kill him when he is giving his speech."

"You never said anything about this."

"Is it a problem?" Recluse's chuckle displayed amusement.

The capped man took the stand, removed his headwear, and began his address before a response came.

Sabine set her helmet comm to the same frequency as the speech was being broadcast on, listening attentively.

" _Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I am Director Orson Krennic of the Galactic Empire."_ The man introduced himself, _"I come in good faith and with promising news."_

"Orson Krennic?" Sabine murmured to herself, she knew about many high ranking officials in the Empire, but this Krennic was not among them.

While the Recluse was listening too, he didn't seem to pay Krennic as much thought.

" _The Empire is in the process of making a glorious weapon of my design, one that will put an end to all conflict, ensuring the birth of an era of peace."_ Orson's bragging met with a thunderous applause.

" _Alas, we can not complete this task alone, we need your help and devotion. In good faith, Governor Hane, representative of your planet in the Galactic Senate has accompanied me to establish better security measures against the gangs that destroy your homes and plunder what is rightfully yours!"_ An even greater roar of approval brought a smirk to the man's aging face.

Once the noise died down Governor Hane began his speech.

" _Thank you, Director Krennic."_ Hane's voice displayed humility and sympathy, traits Sabine had thought impossible to find in an Imperial Official.

" _As you all know, three years ago I commissioned the Galactic Empire for support, protection, and jobs, in hopes of giving you all a chance to make a future for your families. I am all too familiar with the brutal conditioned the gangs are subjecting us to, I lost my father to their strongmen when he took a stand, and my mother to the industrial mines trying to make a future for me as a boy."_

Sabine was at a loss for words. Her efforts to find deceit in the man's voice were in vain. The man even seemed to choke up a bit before regaining his composure.

" _The Emperor himself was generous to lend us a small garrison of droids to combat the thugs roaming our streets…"_

"I got 'em in my sights." The Stranger snapped the rebel out of her thoughts, "Am I clear?"

Sabine remained dead silent.

"I said 'Am I clear'?" The Recluse repeated with a raised tone, "Fine, I'll take my chances."

Time slowed as Sabine experienced a sudden surge of insight. If they killed Hane, and the Rebellion was deemed responsible, then a full Imperial presence would be legitimized. Marshal Law would come into immediate effect!

" _Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur."_ The Recluse chortled as he squeezed his weapon's trigger.

" _Pare sol!"_ Sabine was too late.

Although her sudden outburst threw off the Recluse's aim, the bolt was still sent whistling through the air, but instead of hitting Hane in the head, the round went straight through his heart. Time resumed its normal speed and turmoil engulfed the area. Krennic made a sprint for his ship with his bodyguards taking defensive positions behind him and firing a few rounds down the direction of the sniper's nest.

The Recluse sprung to his feet, strapped his rifle on his back and marched up to Sabine.

"Care to explain why you threw off my aim?" saying the man was unhappy would be an understatement, "I was fortunate to have hit that _or'dinii's_ chest otherwise we would have lost our payday! You're lucky I don't dock your bonu…"

"That wasn't an Imperial Official, that was a local ambassador!" Sabine cut off the Recluse's harangue.

"I don't see the difference, Twister." The Recluse shrugged, "My client contacted me and the target changed, they even promised to add a few zeroes to the pay, how could I refuse?"

"By killing him, you've just legitimized the Empire's occupation and brought Marshall Law!"

"That was the idea, people like us don't appreciate unwelcome visitors, as such weapons sales tend to reach all-time highs. More violence equals more money for my client." The Recluse made it seem as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe.

As he began to turn and make his exit, Sabine grabbed his right shoulder with a strong grip forced him to look at her helmeted head.

"You make me sick." Sabine wished neither of them had helmets so she could spit in his face.

"You had an equal role, and I suggest you let go of me before I keep your share of the hit." Recluse's voice was cold and even.

Sabine complied with only the greatest reluctance and the scariest scowl on her hidden face.

"Smart girl. Come along now, it's time to get paid."

* * *

An hour later, on board Imperial Star Destroyer _Incursion_ ….

Orson's face betrayed what most would display after an assassination. Instead of shock, fear, or sadness, he displayed a smug demeanor. After reaching the safety of an orbiting Star Destroyer, the Director immediately dismissed all but two of his personal guards and made way for his quarters.

A short walk later, Orson placed the remaining two troopers on guard duty outside his place of dwelling. A holoprojector was already active and showed a rather impatient Governor Tarkin.

Krennic gave a small abnegation.

"Governor Hane breathes no more." He reported.

" _Just as I predicted, and your spies gathered enough evidence to hold the rebels culpable?"_ the elderly imperial asked flatly.

"Of course, for all intents and purposes the rebel…"

" _Good, you have done your part, Orson. We have a legitimized presence over Nar Shaddaa and active Marshall Law."_

"And you will put in a good word for me to the Emperor?" Krennic asked hopefully.

" _When my schedule allows it."_ Tarkin answered; his voice was a marriage of irritation and stress, _"Return to the fleet, the Emperor expects further progress on the weapon."_

The transmission came to an abrupt end.

* * *

A half hour later, planetside…..

The temptation to put her blade through the arrogant sniper's neck clawed at Sabine's mind with unrelenting fervor. The memory of Hera's instructions was the only reason he still drew breath. It didn't take long for them to reach an erecting platform that had a red marked speeder resting in the middle with a thug adorned in blood red Krayt armor tapping his foot against the metal floor with growing impatience.

The ruffian quickly acknowledged the approaching Mandalorians with a smirk made invisible by his headgear.

"Glad to see you have the aim you bragged about, although I was expecting you to go for the head." The driver spoke casually and got situated behind the speeder's controls.

"You can thank Ms. Cold Feet." The Recluse gestured towards Sabine with his thumb.

The female Mandalorian rolled her eyes and took the back seat of the speeder; bumping the Recluse "accidentally" on the way.

"Ain't she delightful?" The Recluse didn't bother hiding the sarcasm in his voice.

"Indeed. Come on, the boss is waitin'." The driver brought the vehicle to life as the male Mandalorian took the seat beside the thug.

* * *

An uneventful fifteen minutes later, Sabine found herself following the Recluse to one of the shadier parts of Nar Shaddaa, an observation most would consider impossible given the planet as a whole.

The first thing that coursed through the rebel's mind when she stepped into a moderately guarded base of the Crimson Brotherhood was gratitude for wearing a helmet; she didn't much care for the fumes of spice invading her nostrils.

The interior of the compound was a lot like the _Tainted Nectar_ the key difference was the patrons beginning inebriation instead of recovering from it. Sabine felt a bit of pity, the aftereffects that would result from the substances used for a small taste of euphoria would not be pleasant.

The Brotherhood seemed to be open to all species, from Pykes to Ugnaughts and Quarren to Duros, all were decorated with tattoos as crimson as the armor the members donned.

The Recluse wasn't lying, this hit meant a lot to the criminal gangs that called Nar Shaddaa home.

The sense of déjà vu strengthened when the Mando was lead through a back door to a private room.

This private room had fewer residents and smoked spices, but it was better kept and quiet. A Rattataki sat cross-legged upon a cathedra, meiloorun in one hand, a peculiar smelling beverage in the other.

"If it ain't the infamous Recluse. Coming to reap his reward." The alien chuckled.

"You should know me by now Inquijas," The Recluse walked up to the base of the makeshift throne, "I make good on my deals."

"That you do, boy, that you do." Inquijas took a bite out of the meiloorun; bits of juice came out of his mouth, "Who's the girl."

"Despite her defiant attitude," The sharpshooter admitted, "She and her team provided me the appropriate surveillance to make the hit possible."

Sabine raised an eyebrow. The way the male Mandalorian talked made it difficult to determine whether or not he was paying her a bastardized compliment or another one of his quips.

"Inquijas Deqiil." The Rattataki introduced himself as he got to his feet and walked approached Sabine; but not before he downed the contents of his glass in one gulp, "Chieftain of the Crimson Brotherhood, and you are?"

Although he maintained a decent level of sobriety, Sabine could detect faint hints of the other room's accommodations in Inquijas's breath.

"None of your concern," Sabine answered.

"I can tell you are not in the mood for small talk, and frankly you are killing my mood." The recently ingested materials were beginning to show in Inquijas's behavior; few things were more irritating than a mercurial intoxicant.

A presumably sober grunt snapped to attention when the chieftain snapped his fingers and presented the Recluse with a container lined with golden credit chips. Judging by its size, the Mandalorian could tell that the second container didn't hold the bonus for the new target's demise.

The gangster's agitated demeanor melted back into its relaxed state when he addressed the Recluse.

"Business has been booming. Already, people are purchasing as many arms as they can get a hold of." The alien patted the hitman's shoulder.

"Fear does that to people. Makes em' do things they wouldn't otherwise do."

"A reason to sleep with one eye open for them and pay us mountains of credits."

"You included that weapon from the raid, correct?"

"I deducted its cost from your bonus. I'll be sure to negotiate a fair price next time we come across something valuable for your collection."

"We'll see."

Sabine's patience was almost depleted by the time the two finished talking. The Recluse turned on his heel and walked past the young woman; but not without deliberately getting payback for bumping into him earlier first.

Once they had exited the noise-laden building, the two Mandalorians found a quiet alcove to dull out the shares.

The sniper removed about a quarter of the credits and placed handed them to Sabine, before collecting another small chunk of a row and adding it to the female's pay. The rebel could already tell this wasn't the 55% cut she was promised, at least from the larger bounty the sniper allegedly received.

"There's your bonus, don't spend it all in one place." The Recluse grunted.

"You promised us fifty percent," Sabine snapped, "That was our agreement!"

"Of the original half million, yes. You got your cut plus the five percent bonus," the stranger shrugged off the accusations, "Even if I wanted to give you a slice of the compensation fee, I already spent most of it on a weapon."

"What type of weapon warrants thousands of credits!?" Sabine was livid.

"An artifact from the Clone Wars Museum of course."

What came out of the smaller lockbox almost made the artist's heart stop. It couldn't have been. How was the Darksaber in the Empire's possession and under the ownership of Mandalore's Imperial Viceroy Saxon?

But there was no mistaking that handle, much less the black blade that came out with a sharp whistle.

Sabine had half a mind to break the Stranger's arm. Mandalorian or not, she has seen him in hand to hand combat, and there was no way he would be able to handle the weapon properly in combat let alone serve as a symbol of Mandalorian Tradition.

Luckily for the Recluse, two factors kept his limbs intact. Orange and red lines styled not unlike a data chip ran through the hilt like veins would a human body and the outline for the black beam of energy was red.

"That isn't the Darksaber," Sabine interjected with some relief, "That's a crude copy made by Clan Varad during the era of the Old Republic."

"So what if it is?" The Recluse deactivated the weapon, "This is a piece of history, something to collect. With the original missing, I thought for sure a Mandalorian such as yourself would want this blade."

Sabine fought the urge to snatch it from the mercenary's taunting hands.

"Just give me your cut and it's yours," the tone of voice made it obvious the male was enjoying this mind game, "Since you saved me from falling I'll let you keep your five percent bonus."

The urge to accept that offer made Sabine want to kick herself. Although the reconnaissance fee would be enough to purchase the necessary components from the Gamorrean, the desire for the piece of Mandalorian tradition, bootleg or not, wasn't going to persuade the girl into digging the Rebellion's grave any deeper.

The Ghost Rebel remained silent.

"I will take that as a no," the Recluse stated smugly, "Here's a parting gift."

Sabine's commlink flashed with a green light and a set of coordinates appeared in her helmet's HUD.

"An escort will take you back to the upper levels, I'm sure you can spare a few credits for his services," the Mandalorian gave a mocking salute before walking away, "Til' our paths cross again, Twister."

" _Why didn't you kill that di'kut?"_ The angry side of Sabine's mind chastised.

" _He's not worth it. We've done enough today. It's time for us to leave."_

Shame replaced anger as the female Mandalorian traveled to the provided coordinates, dreading the damage Recluse may have done to the Rebel Alliance.

Silently she vowed to herself that if she met the Recluse again, she would put him in his place.

* * *

 **That brings chapter four to its conclusion, thanks for reading! Be sure to give me a review to deliver some constructive criticism or a few words expressing your experience reading this work. Some critique of my character would make my day, tell me whether or not he is balanced and why.**

 **Now I know what some of you are thinking: The Recluse has the Darksaber, this is turning into the Mandalorian Rebel, you can breathe easy, this Darksaber is merely a crude copy made by Clan Varad and it won't remain in the Recluse's hands for long. Trust me, he won't really perform all that well with it, he is a reckless and somewhat arrogant sharpshooter, not a swordsman.**

 **A/N: As you have seen, the Recluse is a crazy shot with a sniper, but the contrast to this is a lack of experience during close combat with an individual with skill exceeding that of the average Stormtrooper. That's what happens when you devote all of your training time to sniping!**

 **Before I say goodbye I would like to start the list of clan members (i.e. contest winners) now and place the winners of my latest contest on it now:**

 **Roster**

Aggiefan15

Burke23

Korvik93

SPARTAN-626

StormyOceans

 **Congratulations! And welcome to the clan! Remember, if you win a contest and are already a member, then I will put an asterisk by your name to indicate the number of contests you've won (no asterisks means one contest).**

 **A/N: You'll be seeing more Death Troopers throughout this story. I have a list of qualities that Death Troopers possess that places them over the common Stormtrooper in terms of combat performance. Which brings me to the contest: In your reviews, give me your list of qualities that you believe the troops should have. The reviewer whose list best matches mine wins!**

 **I hope that this chapter was worth the wait. Bet you didn't expect I'd give Orson Krennic a cameo, huh? He strikes me as a very intelligent but arrogant individual who wants whatever amount of credit he thinks he deserves, he had the gall to confront Darth Vader over his position regarding the Death Star! With regards to the other four deserters, I'll let your imaginations dictate their appearance. Not entirely sure what good that will do though since they're long dead.**

 **Glory to Mandalore!**


	6. Interlude I

Interlude I

 **Happy Belated New Year! Yup, after three long months I am back! I cleaned up the previous intermission a bit and included some text entries from historical archives to hopefully give a new perspective to the changes that are being made by the rebels, for better or for worse. The following will be similar and different in its own way.**

 **If you were wondering why I've been away for so long, the answer is reasonably straightforward: College Work in my worst subjects, it took everything I had to stay afloat. In other words, I didn't have the time to plan out and write the story. I have officially begun writing an outline, but to hold you over, here's a small new chapter. I apologize for the wait, I have been struck with the absolute worst case of writer's block and lack of inspiration.**

 **But I am very proud of this chapter, even though it is a little short.**

 **I absolutely love writing about Krennic. I know what kind of man he is, a slave to his own work and blinded by his pride. However, the guy is still human, so I am going to explore the effects his work may have had on him when he fell under doubt during the time of Star Wars Rebels.**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

Eadu 21:31 ….

"Thank you; you are dismissed."

The assistant saluted and made himself scarce.

Orson rubbed his eyelids with one hand and probed his cluttered office for his cup of caf. It had become something of a ritual when the skies of Eadu turned gloomier than they usually did, he didn't make any errors when retrieving his long and cold cup of morning fix.

A miracle he hadn't developed a craving for Death Sticks from the daily routines only a droid would tolerate on a good day. Authorize shipments of materials, pay a small fortune of the Empire's finances, get caffeinated, dismiss the assistant. One would describe this as a repetitive life to lead.

Endorsing the foolish official on that hovel of a planet was the most exciting thing he had done all month. If it weren't for the monotonous days of late, he would have argued with the New Diplomacy executives even if it risked termination. It was a wasted endeavor, one with a singular silver lining of backing Project Celestial Power and Project Stardust, both of which were done rather poorly. But something had to convince the stooges of the Imperial Senate that their word still held a small iota meaning.

Mandated appearances every two months or so? There were worse extracurricular responsibilities, and to that aspect of the otherwise extreme situation, Krennic acquiesced some gratitude.

The glass was cold to the lips, and the beverage was tasteless from repeated consumption over the recent days, but as the assistant, it served its purpose.

The Director's attention turned to his datapad, wiping away some of the grease buildups on the interface and screen before filling out the latest billing circular from Kuat Drive Yards.

 _The configuration of Kyber Crystals into the primary beam cost more in prototype development than predicted initially. The observation deck's structural progress was waylaid due to injuries amid the workforce, the delay is projected to last twenty-two rotations at the least. These setbacks have added to the expenditures in the estimates of ten percent of the original budget. Efforts to rectify the reversals above will begin once payment is authorized._

A deep sigh crawled out of Krennic's throat as he sent it to Coruscant. Every acquisition form for further funding made him appear less and less the architect of the Empire's future and more a desperate imbecile.

Such helpless thought persuaded another sip from his stale beverage, only to discover that it was empty, the only indication of the caf's presence were the stains climbing up the cup. It was probably for the best, sleep would still be needed if he was to survive another day of bills and complaints from the Empire's higher-ups. The midnight hour was nearer still, perhaps he should turn in for the night after dealing with the current expenditures and charges from the Imperial Senate.

Krennic pulled up the reports regarding the excavation operations on Jedha and Christophsis, the latter of which was due for withdrawal the next day. There were some things the Director could look forward to, like fewer reports, and, if memory served, he was due for deployment to the Kuat Drive yards for personal inspection of the materials being supplied for his project's observation room. It was the simple things that kept him sane.

Before he could begin reading it over, the holoterminal built into his desk's left edge began to blare with a high-pitched tone that could rouse even the deepest of sleepers from their dreams. Usually, sudden disturbances would startle even the most iron-willed, but the onsetting fatigue halted any such reaction from the Director, who instead took the time to make him look somewhat presentable. The terminal answered itself if not done manually, a feature the Imperial Bureau of Commerce insisted on installing after Krennic had passed out on four separate occasions at his desk from the stress of the growing pile of charges.

On cue, the machine projected a blue light that took the form of one Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin. The Moff's age became more apparent with each passing day, the creases in his skin that had been present even during his service in the Clone Wars had grown more profound. The wrinkles on his skin spread like a disease, especially around his eyes, their growth a factor of his work and daily duties and his hair was becoming greyer, perhaps even thinning prematurely. Orson's development of similar features was progressing quicker as of late, one could wonder how much longer it would be before he mirrored Wilhuff's countenance. Unlike the Director, Tarkin's green uniform was neatly maintained and washed, any indications of mistakes or misdemeanors were well hidden.

" _All for the sake of Thalassa,"_ Krennic thought.

None were safe from rumor, and the Lexrul native made it his business to know all that concerned Tarkin.

Tarkin scanned Krennic, taking note of any imperfections before speaking.

" _Director Orson Krennic,"_ the Moff's tone was as dry as the lands of Jakku.

"Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin," Krennic repeated in kind, "Your call is unexpected."

" _As it should be, I haven't the time for small talk, so I will be practical,"_ Tarkin scoffed, _"Your presence is mandated, effective immediately aboard my ship_ Executrix. _"_

Krennic groaned internally. According to the latest updates from his assistant, the _Executrix_ was currently stationed above Kamino, even with the _Pteradon_ 's hyperdrive that was an unpleasantly long trip.

"Sir, I am needed here, I can't possibly abandon my work aga.." Krennic tried to develop a plausible excuse, but even he knew it was a feeble and failed effort.

" _You can and you will, your aides can handle your documents well enough until you return,"_ Tarkin's scolding was akin to a father scolding a disobedient child, and Orson hated it, _"Depart immediately. Your presence is expected within four hours."_

Before Krennic could come up with another protest, the message ended, and an information cylinder was ejected from the console containing the route he was expected to take.

The Director released a sound that screamed defeat and took the cylinder. Tarkin was one of the few people who could scare him without issuing a threat. The few were those above his authority and control.

Krennic reached into one of his desk's many compartments and retrieved his special comlink, tuned into unique frequencies that could only be accessed by designated workers, allowing for discrete and swift reassignments at his discretion. He tiredly punched in the frequency tuned to his faithful pilot Dunstig Pterro, who answered after only two chimes.

" _Yes, Director Krennic?"_ Dunstig's scratchy voice inquired.

"Prep ST-149, departure in fifteen minutes," Krennic ordered sharply.

" _By your command,"_ Dunstig replied dutifully before signing off.

Krennic was committed to his ambitions, putting up with Tarkin was a small price to make them a reality, but first, a trip to the refresher and a fresh change of clothes were in order.

* * *

Hyperspace 23:47…

The passing stars, though visually blurred, were still a calming sight to Krennic. Before becoming Director, the Lexrulian was never one to stop and appreciate the simple pleasures offered by the galaxy around him, but now; aside from the occasional duties to the New Diplomacy Movement, it was one of the only reminders he had that there was a world outside of his work.

A trip to the showers did wonders for the Imperial. How long had it been since he last bathed? The days seemed to be turning into weeks lately. Nevertheless, he was grateful to get out of his office again, even though the circumstances that dragged him out were less than favorable.

After coming back to reality, Orson scanned through his schedule on a provided datapad from his assistant. He was due for yet another redeployment after his business on Kuat to Malpaz to discuss progress on Project Stardust with Galen Erso due to an accelerated timetable put in place after the "incident" with Hane. After that, he was due back on Scarif to oversee the installation of new mining equipment that was to be put towards the weapon's completion. It would appear that the Director got his wish.

But still…

" _Why Kamino?"_

The question drew attention from fear and continuously gnawed at the back of the Director's mind. The only answer he could think of was that it held his only competition at the moment for funds.

The Outer Rim planet was once a vital asset, when the Galactic Republic still existed, when the galaxy was ripped apart by civil war, when replicates of Jango Fett's DNA were the only plentiful supply of soldiers outside the shallow pool of military reserves and volunteers. Now? Now it was a shell of its former self, kept in operation for reasons the details of which were known only by a select few.

Much to Krennic's umbrage, he was not among those few.

The cloning facilities were shut down almost immediately after the Galactic Civil War ended and the remaining assets and soldiers either retired or continued to serve the new Empire. Experimental programs were established in the bowels of Tipoca City, and new facilities were erected for new purposes unclear to the mass public. The popular belief was bio-weapon development, but, from what he had gathered, it was the development of a new cloning program using a new template, and; if the quality of the latest Stormtroopers said anything, the desired results had yet to be produced.

Perhaps he was to learn of the operations this day; maybe they were too delicate to be discussed over the comm channels. Alternatively, it was a move by Tarkin to remind him of his position and that his ambitions continued to remain out of reach. Both prospects proved equally disconcerting.

The soft static of the _Pteradon_ 's intercom greeted Krennic's ear and drew his attention.

" _Sorry for any disturbance, Director Krennic, but we will be arriving at Kamino shortly, ETA twenty minutes."_ Dunstig's reported, and the intercoms went silent.

A short time later, as the _Executrix_ came into view and the blue blurs of stars vanished, Krennic placed his cap on his head of graying hair, stood up; a Death Trooper on either side of him, and straightened his uniform to the extent he was able without mechanical assistance.

A victory if he walked from the meeting maintaining his position and responsibilities. A miracle if his integrity remained intact the next day.

* * *

Imperial controlled Kamino 24:34 Imperial Class Star Destroyer _Executrix_ ….

Tarkin's office had all the life and charm of an interrogation room. The only remarkable properties it possessed was a sizeable table with a chair on either side, the one with the back to the viewing port had an elongated back to give it the appearance of a throne, and the viewport itself, which offered a grand view of the ball of clouds and lightning that was the planet Kamino.

The chair Krennic sat in was lower than the vacant one across from him, giving anyone in his position the feeling of being looked down on by Tarkin. The fact that his troopers were forced to wait outside of the office did nothing to ease his nerves.

He had spoken to officials on numerous occasions since he put Project Stardust into development, but rarely in person; the times he did were merely a formality, the channels were secure enough to keep out even the most inquisitive and persistent of slicers. None lost any sleep discussing the Director's project over comms, including Tarkin.

"How could the old fool possibly see another clone army as more important than my project?" Krennic breathed to himself in disbelief.

Not two seconds after he finished his complaint, the door slid open and in walked the aging officer, arms crossed behind his back and a bored look in his eyes.

Instead of standing to greet the Moff, Krennic remained seated with his gaze fixed on the throne-like chair across the table until the officer got situated.

"I would imagine you realize why I have summoned you." Tarkin's cesious eyes drilled through Krennic's.

"I wish I did, I have doubts it regards financial support," Krennic replied dryly.

"That is a given," Tarkin rolled his eyes, "As you are well aware, Del Zennis has completed the construction of the Interdictor cruisers, although more funds have become available to the departments of research and development, the well is running dry."

Sensing a threat to the continuation of Project Stardust, Krennic reacted.

"The public supports my goal, they see a future without conflict that can be brought on only by my weapon," Krennic argued, disregarding the ignorance his statement showed.

"Though you maintain your temporary hold over a desperate public, the Emperor is not so easily swayed. He is wary of putting faith in the mere possibility of success." Tarkin shot Krennic down without any indication of offense from the outburst, "And I have long grown weary of you begging for details about the _other_ project."

Krennic remained silent, interested in further details of his opposition.

"Admiral Thrawn and Admiral Zaarin have the new assets for the TIE Defender projects, design production is already underway. Two major projects remain unfinished, your project and the Emperor's: Project Savant."

Krennic gazed upon Kamino with widened and slightly hopeful eyes before returning them to the Moff.

"With all due respect, what is Project Savant?" Krennic swallowed his pride.

The need to learn about his competition far outweighed his desire to feed his ego.

"Project Savant is what will be discontinued if you wish to resume funds for Project Stardust," Tarkin replied flatly.

"I'm listening." Krennic nodded and leaned forward, hoping the sweat forming on his brow wasn't visible to Tarkin.

This could be it. He may finally be free of the consistently looming threat to his goals and the ignorance eating away at his conscience would at long last be vanquished. If there was a higher being, it was undoubtedly showing him a favor. What Tarkin continued to share was indeed evidence to the otherwise unlikely prospect.

"For almost two years now, the Emperor has been attempting to clone a servant to Lord Vader himself. We have had no success in creating anything capable of necessary speech and restraint for deployment." Tarkin elaborated, "However, the template is still very much alive."

"Where is he?" Krennic raised an eyebrow.

"Locked up with the other experiments." Tarkin dismissed.

"If he is so valuable, then why haven't you used him?" Krennic grew frustrated, "Those rebels have thrown enough obstacles in my way."

"He betrayed the Empire, he even made an attempt on the Emperor's life," Tarkin explained with a sigh, the memory was clearly unpleasant, "It was he who broke through your weapon during the development of its weapons system."

Throughout fifteen seconds, the color drained from the Director's face.

"You mean to tell me that THING is still ALIVE?!" Krennic lunged forward and slammed his hands onto the table.

"The Emperor deemed his potential too great to waste in his death." Tarkin continued calmly, sending Krennic a glare ordering him to sit down, "He has been conditioned, but we are still skeptical that he has become completely obedient."

Krennic calmed down and situated himself back into his seat.

"It is because of the risk of releasing the Savant template that the Emperor has seen it fit for me to deliver you an ultimatum," Tarkin joined his hands together on the table and leaned to Krennic's eye level, "Funds will be given to keep Project Stardust's development from diminishing. However, Project Savant will be forced to shut down. Should the Emperor ever feel your weapon ineffective in the Rebellion's end, then the template will be deployed, and you will be held accountable for any damages or acts of dissonance he exhibits until this spark of rebellion is extinguished."

Krennic remained silent, turmoil clearly present in his mind.

"Your answer is expected immediately." Tarkin clarified impatiently.

"I accept," Krennic looked up at Tarkin before standing and readjusting his cap, his voice was one of defeat.

"Really?" Tarkin raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised at the answer.

"Absolutely," Krennic stared Tarkin down before any silence could settle after Tarkin's statement, the words were absent thought or consideration but still maintained that sense of loss, "That thing you call a template started this conflict, my weapon will ensure peace for all the years to come."

"Such conviction, I hope it is the product of commitment towards the Empire and not the preservation of your fragile ego," Tarkin jabbed at the Director, "Expect payment within a fortnight."

"Is there anything else you would have of me?" Krennic asked, his fatigue from earlier beginning to catch up with him.

"No, you are dismissed Director Krennic." Tarkin stood up himself and nodded to his subordinate.

"Thank you, sir." Krennic gave a reluctant salute before departing to his shuttle.

* * *

Krennic stomped his way back to the _Pteradon_ where his pilot Dunstig Pterro was awaiting his return.

"Set a return course, immediately," Krennic growled quietly as he trudged his way up his vessel's ramp with his loyal Death Trooper escorts, "I wish to return to Eridau as soon as possible."

"Right away, sir." Dunstig saluted.

Looking back, Krennic felt no regret for his actions and acceptance of the Governor's ultimatum. If it saw the weapon to completion, then no amount of risk was too high to take.

"Anything is better than letting Lord Vader's apprentice out of its cage," Orson snorted, "It should have died on Kashyyyk with the rest of the vermin."

* * *

" _The New Diplomacy Movement was introduced and put into motion by various Galactic Republic loyalists. Its existence served to embody the fragile hope the people for the return of the ways preceding the Clone Wars. Surprisingly, Emperor Sheev Palpatine, former Supreme Chancellor of Galactic Republic, made no opposition to the proposal, and it was swiftly put to work. The New Diplomacy Movement enjoyed small successes in its early months of operation, various individuals were selected and trained from lawless planets in an effort to establish working democracies. Although the Galactic Empire had rested multiple worlds from the control of Hutts almost a decade after the end of the Galactic Civil War, they quickly fell back to the control of the crimelords after the delegates were either captured, intimidated, or assassinated. The Empire collected various materials from established labor camps and departed not long after the Rebel Cell's peaked in activity. The movement was and continues to be described by many as weak and half-hearted, but it stayed in operation until two years after the Battle of Yavin IV."_

Excerpt from _The Reign of Galactic Empire: Movements from Within. Entry 13: Fragile Hopes._

* * *

 **Reviews are appreciated. The one key factor that keeps me away from my computer, even after I get some free time, is the fear of disappointing my readers, the fear of not being good enough. Your support helps me to remove those fears and write the next chapter, and I thank you.**

 **Glory to Mandalore!**


End file.
